


once more to see you

by untouchableocean



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, but i fuckin just decided to change everything about it so, i havent written fanfic in forever and suddenly im writing f1 fanfic?, other characters will probably come up as i write this haha, starts at the start of 2019 season, this is au btw, what have i become
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-02-09 10:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18636238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableocean/pseuds/untouchableocean
Summary: Charles Leclerc is certain that this will be his season. But when a sudden and furious rivalry blossoms between him and Max Verstappen, his life will take several dramatic and unexpected turns. // Title taken from "Once More to See You" by Mitski





	1. cool, calm, collected

**Author's Note:**

> hello fellow clowns this fic is set in an alternate universe where Leclerc got pole position in australia. why? because reality can be whatever i want (a la thanos). this is a complete work of fiction. i made all this shit up my guy anyway please enjoy the first thing ive written in literal months!

The dark starting lights stared down at Leclerc. Despite not being lit, the dull bulbs seemed to burrow into his soul, sending pangs of nervous pain down his chest and through his stomach. He waited for the five angry eyes to light up red; don’t freeze up, he told himself, don’t freak out, just keep cool. This was his first time in pole position, and the first race of a season was always a big event, so he really couldn’t fuck this up. He adjusted his hands slightly on the panel of flashing lights and screens that they called a wheel these days as the first light popped up red, then the second…third…fourth…fifth…

Silence. What was only a few seconds in reality felt like a lifetime to Leclerc. The shining orbs felt like portals to Hell, burning through the Monégasque’s eyes and straight into his brain, bouncing his frenzied thoughts off the sides of his skull, trying to pull him away from the race and into a state of panic. He settled his screaming mind and focused himself. Cool, calm, collected.

The lights went out and Leclerc slammed his foot down on the throttle. He breezed down the straight, blocking the other drivers out until he hit the corner and swerved easily through the huddle. He stayed calm, staying at the front of the crowd with little effort. Everything else fell away; the race, that was all that mattered.

It stayed in that vein for several laps. He cruised at the front, unaware of whatever chaos was going on behind him until lap 36. He was speeding down the straight when he heard the familiar buzz of the team radio.

“Hey Charles, just a heads up, Verstappen is closing in on you. He’s seriously close, so get ready to try and keep your place.”

Fuck, not Verstappen! Leclerc knew he was a maniac from their previous run ins, even before F1. He tried to avoid him both on and off the track to save his own skin, so having him encroach on his comfortable lead was the last thing he needed right now.

“Thanks for the heads up, guys.”

He took a quick look in the Ferrari’s mirror and saw the Red Bull hurtling towards him with alarming speed. He swung around turn 1, trying to push back the wave of panic washing over him. As he turned around the bend, there he was; Verstappen, almost side by side with him. They went into the next corner as one and left as two, Verstappen narrowly in front of Leclerc, about to speed off. Unfortunately, Leclerc wasn’t going to give up that easily. He sat in the Dutchman’s slipstream, gathering speed until he had the opportunity to overtake. Their cars were side by side again and Leclerc was almost in front when Verstappen slammed into his back wheel. He braced himself as his poor Ferrari swerved into the wall through no fault of his own. He stared in disbelief at Verstappen, who sped into the distance and round the next turn.

The team radio crackled in his helmet.

“You alright Charles?”  
  
“No, the car is busted. I need to get off the fucking track.”

As he sat waiting to be rescued, he went from shock to anger. The anger bubbled in his chest and started to boil. Why the hell did he do that? There was no goddamn point, other than to knock him out of the race deliberately, just for having the audacity of trying to get his place back? That’s how racing works! Even as his car was lifted off the track and he was taken back to the pit he couldn’t wrap his head around it. How could one person be so petulant, so petty, so aggressive? It was a dangerous combination. Somebody’s going to get hurt one day, he seethed to himself.

He went straight through the paddock and into his dressing room, slamming the door and throwing his helmet across the room. A shatter indicated to him that it hit the mirror, but he couldn’t care less. He slid down the back of the door and let out a soft sob. He seriously thought he could do well in that race, that was his best chance at winning for once and he blew it! No, he told himself, Verstappen blew it. Don’t blame yourself…

He got his phone out and checked his texts. A few from friends who had been watching the race. Great, that’s just what he needs to think about right now. One from Giada. Yeah, he should probably at least respond to her.

>u ok?? saw what happened. max totally out of line such bullshit :(

yeah. ill b fine. srry i just need 2 b alone rn<

>i get it. txt when ur feelin better. i love u. :)

love u 2<

He slowly stood up and moved to the sofa, falling face first into the fluffy cushions. He pushed back the rest of the tears. No point in crying about it. He turned himself around and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the race to be over. Various people knocked on his door, but he snubbed them all. Alone meant alone. After a while, he rolled himself off the sofa and left the room to see who won.

He wasn’t at all surprised to see that Verstappen had stolen the trophy from him. He was surprised, however, to see him sauntering around his technical area. Several Ferrari officials were urging him to leave pronto, but he stuck around. Leclerc could only stand and stare until Verstappen finally caught sight of him standing dumbly in the doorway. He had such a smug grin on his face, and he knew exactly what he was doing when he let off a coy wink at Leclerc.

That did it. Leclerc stormed across the technical area towards Verstappen, ignoring everyone around him. He was in race mode. Besides, the fury ringing in his ears was too loud to even consider listening to anyone except the bastard who was now directly in front of him. Despite the Monégasque being two inches taller than the Dutchman, Verstappen seemed to tower over him. Feeling the sheer arrogance radiating from the shorter man only spurred Leclerc on.

“What the fuck were you playing at?! I overtook you fair and square and you go and ram me into the fucking wall? You cost me the race, you bastard!”

Verstappen looked unfazed.

“Yeah, I know. That’s F1, kid. Can’t take the heat, get out the pan.”

“Kid? We’re the same age you prick! You can’t just…do that! It’s not sportsmanlike conduct.”

Leclerc was getting flustered as Verstappen continued to stare into his eyes, reading him. He frowned and spoke flatly.

“Yeah, well, I won, you lost. Get over it, Charlie.”  
  
He turned and walked off. Leclerc was left standing in a state of shock and confusion. As he tried to process what had just occurred, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see his teammate, Sebastian Vettel.

“You ok?”

Leclerc sighed.

“No, not really. Is it press conference time?”

Vettel nodded gravely.

“Great.”

As they walked towards the interview room, he turned around to see Verstappen leaning against a wall in the distance, looking back at him. Once he realised he was being observed back, he snapped his head away. Leclerc shook his head and followed Vettel out of the pits. What was that about? He pushed it out of his mind. No point in thinking about it. He’d need a clear mind for this interview. Cool, calm, collected…right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow you made it to the end (unlike Leclerc hehe) pls comment what you thought!! like i said i havent written in ages to any feedback at all is appreciated. :D


	2. tough doesn’t suit you, sweetheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fast update i know, dont get used to it haha i just wanted to bang out the second chapter because i have a ton of homework so i wont be able to write tonight -_- damn education getting in the way of the important stuff, like f1 fanfic >:(

>srsly babe, u need 2 let it go. he was riling u up deliberately.

yh ik but its still a dick move, coming 2 my technical area n not even apologising? u jst don’t do that<

>babe, u rlly have 2 sleep now. dont even think abt him, and ttyl. love u :)xx

ok babe ly2<

 

Leclerc turned his phone off and chucked it onto his bedside table. The alarm clock in the hotel flashed 2:34am. Qualifying needed a clear mind and a full night’s sleep, and he would have neither. He groaned softly into his pillow and rolled all the way to the other side of the bed. Never before had a double bed felt so empty. He slid out of the sheets naked and wandered to look out the window of the hotel. The Bahraini capital city seemed so out of place in the barren desert, just built one day with nothing but oil money and greed. From his top floor room, Charles could see the sands stretching out for miles and miles, nothing but emptiness and bloody camels.

Ever since his encounter with Verstappen basically everyone had been keeping him away from anybody who even had anything remotely to do with Red Bull. He couldn’t even talk to the Toro Rosso guys. It was seriously pissing him off that he was being babied like that, but when all was said and done, it was probably for the best. He’d seen him at practice that day and almost blown a gasket just from seeing him. Verstappen had noticed and shot him a playful grin; Leclerc almost jumped over his car to tell him what he thought of his bloody smile, but Vettel had held him back just in time.

He was so lucky to have Vettel to calm him down while all this was going on. As well as being an incredible driver, he’d seen it all, and he knew that Leclerc shouldn’t go through the harsh world of Formula 1 alone. He was the only one who wasn’t treating him like an infant over this.

“I know you want to fight back,” he’d said after practice, “but you mustn’t react. He wants people to see you as volatile, argumentative, to demonise you. You were lucky the media didn’t get wind of that fight in Australia. The smartest thing to do is ignore him. He'll give up eventually.”

He knew it was good advice, he knew that he should take it. But there was something nagging at him about Verstappen. Why him, why Leclerc? Sure, the Dutchman had smacked into other people before, but there was something about the way he was trying to work him up about it that really set Leclerc’s teeth on edge. He hadn’t done anything to him personally, they’d never been rivals as such, so why was he singling him out?

He turned around and sighed. The alarm clock’s bright red numbers read 2:52am. An empty bed, a lonely country, and a tired mind. He stumbled back into the centre of the bed and closed his eyes, hoping to still get some sleep out of the few hours he had left. 

* * *

 The team arrived at the bus just a few hours later. Vettel and Leclerc boarded and sat together at the front, the former drawing the curtain to fend off the early Middle Eastern sun.

“Charles, you good? You seem a bit…”

He trailed off when Leclerc looked up at him from beneath heavy eyelids.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Vettel asked as the coach set off for the track.

“Three hours, about.”

“Jesus, are you good to drive?”

Leclerc shot up, suddenly awake.

“Course I am, I jus’ need a lil’…nap…”

He fell onto Vettel’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The older man wrapped a protective arm round the youngster’s shoulder as he slipped into unconsciousness. It was going to be a surprisingly short 20 miles for Leclerc.

* * *

Once everyone had disembarked at the circuit, they immediately started to sort out the cars for qualifying. Leclerc, who had just been rather rudely awoken from his beauty sleep, was wandering around the pits in search of a coffee. He had just spotted a serving stand in the distance when he suddenly heard a slightly German sounding voice behind him.

“Wrong tech area, kid.”

He spun around to see Max Verstappen, already in his racing suit. He blew a pink bubble of gum and smirked at the startled Leclerc. He had no idea how to react, he just stood and gawped. Don’t react, that’s what Vettel had said, right?

Verstappen snapped open a can of Red Bull.

“Want some? You look like you need it. There’s no poison in it, promise.”

It took Leclerc a moment to process what was happening before grabbing the can and chugging half the contents in one go. He felt sick, but he needed the caffeine,

“Whoa, kid, chill with the chugging!”

He glared back.

“Don’t call me kid, asshole. Just because you helped me out here doesn’t mean we’re even.” The anger in his voice was palpable, and he could swear he saw Verstappen’s face twitch a little as he spoke. “If you pull anything like you did last race, so help me god I’ll break your fucking car so badly it’ll never drive again.” Okay, maybe that was a bit much.

Verstappen took a few slow paces forwards until their faces were so close Leclerc could smell the gum on his breath. A couple of people stopped to watch the exchange.

“Tough doesn’t suit you, sweetheart. Get back to your own pit, _kid_.”

The final word rolled off Verstappen’s tongue dripping with venom, almost like he was daring him to bust his car. In his sleep deprived state, he didn’t think at all before shoving Verstappen away with as much force as he could muster. He stumbled backwards, nearly falling before regaining his balance.

A darkness came over his face as he looked back at Leclerc. The air was still between them, penetrated by their unbroken eye contact. Gasly shot towards Verstappen and ran through the motions; are you okay, what happened, etc. Leclerc headed straight back to his technical area. As he walked past the shocked crowd, he could feel Verstappen’s eyes throwing daggers into his back. His eyes welled with tears as he sped into his dressing room and slammed the door. The man in the mirror looked back at him, eyes puffy and wet, face contorted into a mask of anger, guilt, and confusion. He sunk into his chair and dug his palms into his eye sockets until he could see stars. Why had he done that? Why did he rile him up so much? Other drivers had pissed him off before but he’d never shoved them. He knew that Verstappen had wanted him to do that but when it happened, he looked surprised, like he didn’t think he had it in him.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Charles? I’m coming in, don’t hide under the desk.”

Vettel let himself in and dragged the slouching Leclerc off the chair and onto the sofa. Once they were on the sofa, Leclerc buried his head into Vettel’s chest, pushing the tears back to where they came from and clinging helplessly to the older man’s body.

“I wanted to be the one to tell you that you weren’t so lucky this time.”

Leclerc looked up.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone recorded the fight. It’s all over social media, Sky picked it up too. Your rivalry is officially public.” He sounded almost apologetic as he slowly removed Leclerc from his chest. “Don’t let it distract you. I know it will be hard, but now that it’s a ‘thing’, you’re going to have to go into damage control mode. The journalists will hound you more than usual, but just snub them off if they ask about it. Now come on, I know you want to sit here and mope about it, but you’ve got to get changed. We’re about to start. The best thing you can do to piss him off is qualify above him, and don’t let him spin you out this time.”

Vettel got up to leave, but Leclerc grabbed his sleeve and looked up at him with sad brown eyes.

“Why me?”

Vettel gently moved the younger man’s hand off his arm and shook his head. He had that grizzled look on his face, the look he had when he’d seen this kind of thing before.

“Don’t think about it.”

He closed the door behind him, leaving Leclerc to ponder what he meant. Of course, he did think about it; he thought about it from when he pulled on his racing suit to when he got into the car for qualifying. Thankfully, it went without a hitch; Verstappen refrained from smacking into Leclerc and he placed a solid 4th, with the Dutchman only a place behind him. After qualifying had finished and everything was ready for the race the next day, the teams started to board the busses. Leclerc walked out of the technical area, but he felt odd, like somebody was watching him. He looked towards the Red Bull area and, sure enough, Verstappen was leaning against the pit wall, staring at him.

This time, the Dutchman didn’t look away. He was picking at his teeth with a toothpick, and even though there must have been at least 20 metres between the two men, Leclerc could feel Verstappen’s sharp eyes cutting into his body, trying to read him, unnerve him, get in his head; he couldn’t look away. Leclerc felt they could have been there for a lifetime before Vettel tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see the German beckoning him onto the bus, and when he swung back around to take one last look at Verstappen, he was already walking in the opposite direction. He nonchalantly flicked his toothpick over the pit wall and threw his hands in his pockets.

Leclerc jumped on the bus and the door shut behind him as the driver hit the throttle. He fell into the seat next to Vettel and closed his eyes, trying to get the image of Verstappen out of his head. He looked so calm, but there was something about him; he was hiding something, like he was trying to get into Leclerc’s mind but keeping his own firmly closed. The way he looked at him…

Leclerc snapped his eyes open. He didn’t have the energy to think about that kind of thing. He just needed to lie down and sleep and dream of the race. There was no point in wondering why, only in wondering how he was going to beat him tomorrow, and the race after that, and the race after that…if this was going to be a rivalry, he was going to come out on top. No questions, no hesitation. This was his season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well well well, what was all that about verstappen? ;) dont think about it charles......next chapter shall come soon i hope ;D


	3. salmon florentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it turns out that ya boi's homework is actually due next week so i spent all last night writing this. btw there is a point in this where you may chuck your phone in anger and i apologise, but i'm having so much fun writing this and all your lovely comments are so motivating because i do want to be a writer when i grow up and get out into the real world so thank you all! 💖

Leclerc’s alarm blared through the room; all noises seem louder when you’re just waking up, it seems. It was only 8 but he felt like he'd never slept before in his life. He slowly pulled his eyes open, blinking away the crust on his lashes and smashing the clock’s off button. He pushed himself up and out of the bed, which seemed a lot more inviting now that he had to leave it. At least he had got more sleep than the previous night, but it wasn’t good sleep.

The bed had still felt empty, but the thing that made him feel worse was that he wasn’t wishing his girlfriend was with him. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but Charles just found that when he wasn’t around Giada he felt…relief, like it was a weight off his shoulders, and he could be himself. He didn’t know who he wanted next to him if not her, he just wanted someone, anyone to hold him.

The sun shone through the open curtains, illuminating the empty bed as Leclerc pulled on his clothes and packed his race bag. He left the bag on the bed and headed down to breakfast with the rest of the team. He knew that Verstappen would probably be down there too, he just prayed that he wouldn’t have to talk to him.

He stepped into the lift alone and had just hit the close button when he heard someone yelling down the hall for him to hold the door. He quickly hammered the button and the doors retreated as Verstappen almost fell into the elevator with him. He looked almost as surprised as Leclerc, but nevertheless swiftly brushed past him to click the close button. Leaning back against the wall, he let out an exhausted sigh and threw some bubble gum into his mouth.

“Morning, Charlie. Sleep better? You shouldn’t stay up on race nights, y’know. Bad for the brain.”

Being called Charlie was a step up from being called ‘kid’, but it still pissed him off; however, he was going to follow Vettel’s advice this time and not rise to it. He looked at the ground as he responded in a low voice.

“I slept fine.”

Verstappen looked mildly disappointed by the lack of a real response. Leclerc made a mental note of his expression so that he could savour it when he was more awake.

“The continental buffet here is garbage, by the way. Don’t bother with it.”

Leclerc hadn’t even finished trying to process the conversational U-turn before Verstappen carried on with his breakfast analysis.

“The kids buffet is your best bet for a decent all-round breakfast, but if you want my advice?”  
  
He didn’t.

“Get the salmon florentine. It’s just…indescribable.” He performed an incredibly over the top chef’s kiss before continuing. “I don’t know what they did to that salmon before it died, but it must have been the happiest fish in all the seas to taste that good.”

Leclerc stared at him. He was leaning against the side of the lift the same way he had leant against the pit wall the day before; standing on one foot, the other lifted against the wall, arms folded, blowing huge pink bubbles seemingly without a care in the world.

“Oh yeah, I got you something.”

Verstappen fumbled around in his pocket for a second before pulling out a keychain of some sort. He chucked it carelessly it in Leclerc’s general direction, who only just caught it. It was shaped like a little helmet with Red Bull branding all over it.

“It’s an apology gift, for knocking you out in Australia.”

Leclerc ran his thumb over the helmet before shoving it into his pocket. It was a fairly strange apology, but an apology nonetheless.

“Thanks. Sorry about yesterday, I-”

Before he could finish Verstappen stepped forwards and brought his finger to Leclerc’s lips, silencing him.

“Don’t. That was my fault, and you know it.”

He smoothed his finger round to Leclerc’s jaw, lightly cupping his chin. Had he been wearing it, the Monégasque’s face would have matched his racing suit. He leant his face into the Dutchman’s welcoming hand, who moved it round to support his cheek as he stepped forwards again; Leclerc found that his hand was now over Verstappen’s, holding it in place. They were close enough now to feel each other’s breath. Max’s crystalline eyes weren’t harsh like they were the day before, but reassuring, communicating to Charles a silent message of ‘it’s okay, don’t freak out, I’m here’. Verstappen swallowed his gum, when suddenly there was a jolt. The elevator doors slowly slid open.

The two men jumped apart instantly. Verstappen backed out of the elevator and smirked.

“See you in the pits, Charlie!”

Leclerc hurried out of the elevator before the doors shut again. Verstappen was already at the Red Bull table, chatting with his crew as if nothing had happened. Flustered, Leclerc headed to the Ferrari table and took his seat next to Vettel just as the waiter finished taking the table’s orders.

“And for you sir?”

“I’ll have the, um, salmon florentine?”

“Ah, an excellent choice sir.”

The waiter vanished back to the kitchen and while the crew restarted their conversations, Leclerc pulled out the keyring under the table and slipped the ring over his thumb, resting the helmet in his palm and squeezing his hand into a fist. He was trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

He almost kissed Max Verstappen in an elevator. If the doors hadn’t opened, would they have done it? He’d never seen that look in his eyes before, or in anyone’s eyes for that matter. They had been like pools of blue, inviting Charles to dive into them and swim around in every corner of his mind, to not just look at him but to see him. They were supposed to be rivals, but now he was wondering if that was just a front for Max's feelings. Charles had to admit to himself that he'd considered it before, but pushed it down, ignored it, told himself that no, he was just frustrated, lonely. But now, he thought maybe those feelings were real, and if Max felt it too...could they..?

Leclerc was pulled out of his trance by a plate of salmon and eggs landing on the table in front of him. He cut into the sauce coated egg and stabbed at the smoked salmon with a surprising amount of gusto before shoving it all in his mouth. It was at this moment Charles realised he should listen to Max about food more often. The salmon florentine was delicious, and he hoovered the entire plate up in no time. By the end of it he felt like he would never eat again, and wondered if it was an elaborate ploy by Max to fatten him up so he wouldn’t fit in his car.

Leclerc dashed into the elevator, leaning backwards and looking over at the Red Bull table. Verstappen caught his eye and they shared a glance, Leclerc wordlessly begging Verstappen to join him, but Max’s eyes snapped to one side and he shook his head before returning to his conversation. Seconds later, Vettel came into the elevator and hit the 28th floor button. The doors closed, cutting off Verstappen mid laugh.

“Charles, what’s up? You didn’t say a word at breakfast. Is this about yesterday?”

Charles retrieved the keyring from his pocket and handed it to Vettel.

“He said it was an apology present. For knocking me out, and for riling me up so much.” He looked at his feet as Vettel inspected the helmet.

“It’s cute. That’s what had you so worked up?”

Leclerc nodded, eyes focused on the floor. He wasn’t ready to tell Vettel about the almost-kiss, absolutely not. He’d probably tell him it was a bad idea, it’d end badly, and he would probably be right. Vettel handed the keyring back as the elevator reached the top floor. As they walked towards their respective rooms, Vettel whispered to the younger man:

“Open the visor.”

He carried on walking down the hall as Leclerc reached his room. Leclerc sped into his room and jammed open the visor to find a small ball of paper. He shimmied it out using a pencil and opened it up.

 

 _0648557010_  
text me later ;)  
(not during the race  
though)

Leclerc felt an odd sensation in his stomach, a feeling of anticipation and excitement that he hadn’t felt for a long time. He put Max’s number in his phone and was about to bin the note but he found that he couldn’t, he wanted to hold onto it for some reason, so he smoothed it out and tucked it behind his phone case. He grabbed his race bag and headed for the elevator, waiting in it until the doors shut on their own and he descended towards the ground floor alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeeeeee!! im sorry for teasing you all with that elevator scene i promise it'll pay off next chapter!! (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄) also, i know that i actually described eggs royale there (food nerd alert) but in the four seasons hotel in bahrain they call eggs royale salmon florentine. dont ask me why. also also irl there are no official red bull helmet keychains that open up which i think is a massive oversight in red bull's merch department because i'd buy that to sneak my number to my crush........anyway, next chapter will be up within the next few days!


	4. may the best man win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls excuse any spelling/grammar errors here, it's late here and even though i've checked it through about 300 times, i'm v. tired so i may have missed some...enjoy! :D

Leclerc zipped up his race suit and stared down the man that faced him in the dressing room mirror. He stood up and straightened his back, letting out a long, tired sigh. A clear mind was all he needed, but he was finding it harder and harder to purge his thoughts like he could before. He was losing his thread.

The already tiny room felt smaller than the previous day, as if the walls were closing in, suffocating him. He unlocked his phone and opened up contacts, his thumb hovering over Max’s newly created contact. Should he..? He opened the ‘compose message’ window before locking his phone and dropping it on the table. No, not before (or during) the race. Max could wait. They were still rivals, after all.

He made his way to the grid and had almost made it safely to his car when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around to see Verstappen standing in front of him. Leclerc opened his mouth to speak, but his words stuck in his throat, a melting pot of emotions brewing in his mind as his mouth became dryer with every second of silence that hung between them. After what felt like an age, Verstappen finally spoke.

“Hey, uh…just came over to say good luck. In the race, I mean.”

He laughed breathlessly and looked at the ground, a light blush dusting his cheeks. He looked up and threw his open hand out towards Leclerc.

“May the best man win?”

Leclerc tentatively took the Dutchman’s hand in his own and shook it. It was warm and slightly clammy, but soft, his cheeks burning from the memory of the elevator.

“Yeah, may the best man win.”

Verstappen gave his hand a final squeeze before almost reluctantly letting go and heading to his Red Bull, which sat just a place behind Leclerc’s Ferrari. The Monégasque wasted no time in climbing into his car and pulling on his helmet. In a strange way, seeing Verstappen flustered like that, the knowledge that he had caused even the tiniest crack in his ‘cool guy’ persona gave him a shot of confidence like nothing else could have.

The final preparations concluded, the grid was cleared; the race was almost on. Once again Leclerc focused himself on the starting lights, if a little further back than last time. That didn’t matter to him tonight. He was ready. The lights lit up one by one and Leclerc took one final breath as his world stood still.

Darkness. He slammed the throttle, dodging and weaving his way through the mad rush, determined to stay in front of Verstappen. Winning would be the greatest feeling in the world, but simply beating Verstappen would come a close second. He sped round the first corner, sticking to the inside, keeping his distance.

The adrenaline was coursing through his veins like never before. He had always raced calm, kept steady, not given in to his emotions. But now he wasn’t just racing, he was _driving_ , and he loved it. The entire 57 laps mattered, there wasn’t a single one where he didn’t give everything he had, and by the final lap he was exhausted and in second.

He had just turned onto the final straight, ready for a well-earned second place when he caught sight of Verstappen in his mirror. A pit opened up in his stomach, memories of Australia flashing in his mind. He sped up but the Dutchman followed suit, and by the end of the straight he was almost in his slipstream.

They turned into the corner, Verstappen set to overtake. Leclerc resigned himself to another third, another view of the back of a Red Bull, when suddenly Verstappen slipped. He tried to curl around the outside, but he went too wide. In a desperate attempt to steal second, he jerked too far right; not enough to crash, but enough to knock him off his line. Leclerc grabbed the lifeline with his whole body, the Ferrari lunging forwards and following Hamilton’s Mercedes across the line.

After the victory lap, Leclerc was practically dragged out of the car by his crew. Vettel led the charge, pulling him into a tight hug before hoisting him onto his back, carrying him to the podium. He jumped onto the second place podium, looking past Hamilton at Verstappen, who was standing nonchalantly on third. He looked over at Leclerc with an unreadable expression; almost totally blank, the tell-tale sign of something being concealed.

The podium celebrations dragged on for far too long. Leclerc wanted to savour the moment but there was something bugging him about that final corner. When the trio stepped off the podium, Leclerc ran after Verstappen, who ignored him every step of the way back. He was about to reach out and grab his shoulder when he felt someone else grabbing his own. Vettel held Leclerc back as they both watched him descend into his own technical area.

“Don’t start a fight with him. It’s not worth it, not now. Come on, we should get back to the hotel.”

Leclerc reluctantly followed Vettel back to the team bus, where he was greeted by his cheering crew once again. Once he got back to the hotel he retreated straight to his room, alone for the first time in what felt like years. He peeled his racing suit off and discarded it in the corner of the room with the rest of his laundry.

The shower was cold, perfect for the boiling Bahraini night that faced him. As he lathered shampoo through his soft hair, he wondered whether he should text Max. Maybe he really didn’t want to talk to him. He had seemed fairly angry coming off the podium, but there was no point in ignoring him forever. They would, eventually, be forced to talk again, so why not do it now?

The ice cold water stung Charles’ face, stabbing at his skin like tiny icicles and sending shudders down his spine. He flicked the shower off and dried himself before grabbing his phone and rolling into bed. The phone unlocked on ‘compose’ where he had left it earlier.

 

hey its me<

r u ok? sorry<

 

Charles set the phone down and started to dry his hair. After an agonising few minutes it buzzed, and Leclerc hurried over to answer the incoming texts.

 

>yeah i’m okay

>are you? i saw vettel manhandling you onto the podium. hope he didn’t break anything, you’re pretty fragile

 

wow<

still beat you<

>meaning to talk to you about that

>my room is 2232, i won’t bite

 

Charles felt a lump appear in his throat. He tried to kid himself that he didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t do it. He had to see him.

 

when?<

>now

ok<

 

He grabbed the nearest shirt he could find and pulled on his jeans before abandoning his phone on the bed and heading out of the room. He scoured the wall signs for directions to room 2232, eventually turning a corner and running straight into Vettel.

“Fuck! What are you doing here, Seb?”

Vettel looked suspiciously at Leclerc.

“I could ask you the same thing. Running around the corridors at ten at night?”

Charles swallowed. Vettel’s face and tone indicated that he absolutely knew where he was going, the thought of which made Leclerc’s stomach lurch into his chest.

He turned to run but the older man grabbed his collar, pulling him back.

“Be careful.”

He had a faraway look in his eyes, a look that betrayed pain and suffering, and Leclerc wondered if there was something more to the German than he’d let on. Vettel released him and he ran straight down the hall towards Max’s room.

Eventually he found it; room 2232, the light at the end of the tunnel. Of course, he knew that the light could so easily be a train, but he pushed that thought out of his mind and knocked on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to end on a cliffhanger like that....and what is seb hiding???? don't worry, next chapter will be up soon, i promise! i hope you all enjoyed this, cliffhanger or not; i got stuck with a serious bit of writer's block trying to write this chapter so i hope it isn't too dry X_X


	5. holding on for dear life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh lord it got filthy i'm sorry  
> please forgive me i've never written smut before so if it's not great then i apologise

Verstappen opened the door and Leclerc didn’t wait for an invitation before rushing inside, pushing the door shut and letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The room was dark, the only light coming from the window, a portal to the neon city below. Leclerc collapsed on the bed, falling face first onto the soft mattress and letting out a long groan of exhaustion.

He felt the bed dip slightly next to him as Max sat down and started to run his hand through his hair. Charles sighed and made a failed attempt to sit up, rolling to lay his head on the Dutchman’s lap. He looked up at Max, who shuffled to wrap his arms around the Monégasque’s chest, pulling him upwards to lean against his own. They moved back together until Max was leaning against the back of the bed, and Charles leant his head back until their faces were almost touching.

“What happened today?”

Max sighed, leaning his face further into the back of Charles’ head.

“You already know, don’t make me say it.”

Charles slid out of his arms and crawled back to the other side of the bed. Max protested, but Charles sat up and folded his arms.

“I’m not coming back until you say it.”

Max let out a frustrated noise, rubbing his face in his hands.

“Fine. I…let you win. Well, get second. Because I’ve had loads of seconds, and you’ve never been past third, and I didn’t want you to feel shitty for losing on the final corner.”

Charles laid back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. He knew that he was going to say that, but he didn’t know how to feel about it at all. It felt like a hollow, fake victory.

“I didn’t deserve second.”

Oh fuck, did he say that out loud? He rolled off the bed and walked to the window, pushing the tears pricking at his eyes. The city lights tore through the huge glass pane and into Charles, the tears falling now, impossible to hold back. Max appeared beside him and reached up to wipe his tears away. Charles thought back to the elevator and everything seemed to come crashing down around him as he burst into tears, lunging forwards and burying his face in Max’s chest.

Everything seemed to push out of him at once, everything he’d ever pushed down being squeezed out of him by Max’s arms. He sobbed and heaved into his chest, dragging him down to the floor, clinging so tightly to him that it hurt. Max stroked his head and kept whispering to him that it’s okay, he’s here, holding him as he let out every emotion that he’d held inside for so long.

They sat like that for ages while Charles cried himself out, eventually calming down and lifting his face from Max’s chest. His shirt was wet with tears and snot.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Max laughed as he pulled the shirt over his head and threw it to one side. “And you did deserve second. I watched the replay of that race and I’ve never seen you race like that. Honestly, given a few laps, I bet you could have overtaken Lewis.”

Charles scoffed and looked at the floor.

“Shut up. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Yeah, no shit I’m trying to make you feel better! You just spent ten minutes sobbing into my chest, and usually when somebody does that it means they need cheering up.”

Charles laughed softly and Max reached under his chin, tilting his head until they were looking into each other’s eyes. Charles took Max’s hand in his own, gently kissing his fingertips before letting go and staring at Max, silently begging him to come closer. Max closed the gap, kissing him. His eyes fluttered shut and he sighed into Max’s mouth, leaning into the kiss as though he had been waiting for it his entire life.

They separated for a second, looking into each other’s eyes, sharing a look of ‘is this really happening?’ before they collided again, this time far more intense. Max ran his tongue along Charles’ bottom lip before biting down, not hard, but hard enough to elicit a moan from Leclerc.

Max dragged him up off the floor before pulling him in for another deep kiss. They stumbled to the bed together, struggling to stay upright as Max helped Charles get his shirt off. His legs hit the side of the bed and he fell backwards onto the mattress. Max stood for a moment, looking Charles up and down before crawling onto the patch of bed between his legs, manoeuvring him so that he had space to lay.

He popped the button on Charles’ jeans and slowly pulled the zip down, freeing his cock from the tight denim prison.

“No underwear? You really were in a hurry to see me.”

He kissed the inside of Charles’ thigh, making his way up to the shaft. He gave it a few tugs before he took it into his mouth. Charles bucked his hips, unable to stop himself from crying out as he threw his head back and screwed his eyes shut until he could see stars. He pushed himself up slightly so he could watch Max’s head bobbing up and down between his legs. He moved his hand to the back of Max’s head and the Dutchman responded with a satisfied moan, pushing the remainder of Charles’ dick into the back of his throat.

Max looked up to see Charles staring down at him. The two of them remained still for a moment before Max pulled himself off of Charles’ crotch, the Monégasque letting out a small noise of disappointment before Max crawled up and kissed him again. Charles reached down and undid Max’s jeans, pulling his boxers down to reveal his dick. He tentatively reached out and grasped it, rubbing his thumb on the tip. Max gasped, moving down to kiss Leclerc’s neck as he brought his hips down so their cocks were touching.

Max reached down and held his hand over Charles’, rubbing their shafts together.

“Fuck, Max, I’m gonna-“

He cried out as he came, sinking into the mattress, losing all his senses. Max followed soon after, and Charles was vaguely aware of the cum hitting his stomach, still lost in the aftermath of his own orgasm.

Max wasted no time in grabbing the nearest box of tissues and wiping Charles’ stomach clean. He threw the tissue down onto the floor and found his place lying beside Charles, who had moved to lay his head on the pillows.

“You okay?” He whispered, their faces so close they could map each individual detail of the other’s skin. Charles nodded, pressing their chests together until they could feel each other’s heartbeats, slowing now as they calmed down.

They lay in silence for hours, eventually falling asleep still tangled in each other’s arms. The morning would come eventually, and they both knew it. Leclerc would have to sneak back to his room in the wee hours, and they would see each other the next day only from across the room, forced to keep it secret, away from the public eye.

Leclerc would go back to his girlfriend and lie, smile and say everything is fine, he’s barely talked to Verstappen, he loves her. Verstappen would go back to his dad and lie, say that he’s not interested in relationships, he just wants to focus on his racing, he doesn’t love anybody right now.

But none of that mattered yet, because it wasn’t the morning yet. It was just the two of them together, holding on for dear life until the sun rose and they had to pretend again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY that chapter was a ride and a half, i hope it wasn't too garbage O_o  
> also, THANK YOU ALL for your comments!! i read and appreciate all of them, even if i don't reply; sometimes, ironically, i can't find the words. you guys are the lifeblood of this fic :')


	6. pretend

Max woke up to see Charles gathering his clothes from the floor. He caught a glimpse of the small of his back as he pulled his shirt on, unaware of Max’s eyes on him. He wished he’d looked at it more last night, when they were lying together in that strange not quite awkward but not quite comfortable silence. They’d thrown their jeans off soon after they settled down to sleep, and Leclerc was now struggling to work out which pair was his. He looked over to see Max staring at him and gave him a desperate look. Max sighed.

“Check the pockets. There’s a pack of gum in mine.”

Charles rummaged through the pockets of the pair he was holding, turning up nothing.

“What’s your obsession with gum?”

He pulled on the jeans as Max sat up and shrugged.

“Tastes good, and it gives me something to do.”

Charles seemed satisfied with this answer, and headed for the door.

“Wait.”

Max hopped out of the bed and blearily made his way to Charles.

“Does anyone know you came here?”

He looked guilty for a second before nodding.

“Vettel, but he won’t tell anyone.”

“Okay, good, good.”

A thick fog of silence descended upon them and Charles leant his head back against the door. He looked frightened, his eyes unable to hide the burning mess that was his mind. God, Max wanted to grab him and kiss all the worries out of his head, hold him until he was okay, until they were both okay, but he knew he shouldn’t. Charles let out a shaky breath.

“So, what happens now?”

Max looked down. He thought back to the other times he had done this and felt the void open up inside him. He didn’t want Charles to go, but he knew he had to. He couldn’t let them find out about Charles. He wouldn’t let them.

He cleared his throat and spoke, his voice gravelly with the taste of the morning.

“We pretend.”

Charles nodded and pulled Max into a tight hug, and the way he held him almost made him feel like he didn’t want to leave either.

“Can we do this again?”

Max kissed the Monégasque’s neck, unable to stop himself trailing up to his lips, bringing him in for a final kiss before replying softly.

“I hope so.”

Charles reluctantly opened the door, heading back to his room. The hallway lights illuminated Max’s room as he leant in the doorway, watching Charles walk down the corridor and disappear round the corner. He slowly shut the door and checked the time on his phone. 5:34. He jumped on the bed and turned the TV on, flicking to whatever channel was showing something English. He settled on the news, but he wasn’t really paying attention anyway. His thoughts wandered, and he wondered what the time was back home.

Home. It was a word that meant very little to him. Half Belgian, half Dutch, never fully either, globetrotting since he was 13 with karting, then Formula 3, then Formula 2, then Formula 1. He never had a chance to do the normal teenage stuff, not really. He was always too busy to meet anyone new, usually just hanging out with his team instead. By the time he reached Formula 1, he was almost incomprehensibly lonely. He forced any feelings he had down deep into the pits of his heart, focusing entirely on racing.

Everything changed in that first season. Carlos Sainz changed everything. They had been good together, he thought. Their relationship was a turning point in Max’s life, opening his eyes to so much more than he thought was possible, than he thought he deserved. He had someone to race for other than his dad, someone to run to when it went wrong, someone to hold and be held by him. For the first time in his life, Max felt like he belonged.

They had been careless; one misplaced kiss after a race, such a small thing, but spotted by one of the Toro Rosso crew, who whispered it to his friend, who whispered it to _his_ friend, and the whisper made its way around the pits until it finally fell upon the ears of Jos Verstappen. The two drivers were thrown in front of a board of Very Important People from Red Bull and told in no minced words to _stop, or else_. They had no choice but to end it there. No goodbye, no final kiss, it was just…over. And then Max was alone again.

He’ll never forget the conversation with his dad afterwards. It was horrible, his words cutting into Max’s skin, every sentence a new blade dug into his body. He yelled at him for what seemed like hours, barely letting Max explain his actions or protest. He was able to brush most of the insults off, letting them sink into his skin and dissolve, but his final words left a scar;

“I’m fucking disappointed in you, Max.”

It felt like he’d just been shot in the chest. He’d spent his life trying to live up to what his dad expected of him, given everything he had to the life his dad had wanted and it still wasn’t enough; he wasn’t enough.

From that point on, Max knew he had to be careful. He couldn’t see Carlos anymore, not like that, but he could pretend. Hushed voices in back rooms, eyes closed and breath short, finishing without a word and returning before anyone noticed they were missing. And despite all the attention he got from all these different people, it was empty. It meant nothing, and he felt lonelier than ever.

When he moved up to Red Bull, he knew he should have felt something. Proud, happy, even motivated, but all he felt was that he had a chance to pull it back. Make his dad proud again. Make him forget all about Carlos. Make it better. Purge his emotions, be nothing but a machine; race, sleep, eat, and nothing else. Then Daniel Ricciardo happened.

They were fine at first, getting along just as teammates, Max pushing it all down, just like he used to. It was after Malaysia that his shell started to fall apart. They were drunk with the rest of the team, celebrating their podium and Max’s 20th birthday when they decided to head back to their rooms together. They _should_ have said goodnight in the hall, but they didn’t. He _should_ have declined when Daniel invited him in for one more beer, but he didn’t. He _should_ have pulled away when Daniel kissed him, but he kissed back. He was tired of ‘should have’s’ ruining his life. He was going to do whatever he wanted to.

He was more careful than he was with Carlos, making sure nobody knew, nobody would see them. They spent a few too many nights together, claiming they were working on team dynamics or some bullshit like that. Very few people bought it, but they didn’t let Jos know. After all, it was just rumours. Max almost told Daniel he loved him, but he couldn’t bring himself to. That wasn’t what they were and he knew it.

It didn’t work out, of course. Nobody ratted them out, Ricciardo was just tired of Max, tired of hiding, and he wanted to go. Max almost begged him to stay. He didn’t want to be alone again, didn’t want to go back to emotionless quickies in bathrooms or silent escapes in the middle of the night. But Ricciardo was adamant that it wasn’t going to work, and then he was gone too.

When he told everyone he was joining Renault, some people were surprised, but not Max. He knew it was his fault, at least partly. He was sick of people vanishing from his life, but he figured that’s just the kind of life he’d chosen to lead. People come and go, and the only person you’ve got forever is yourself, and when even you’re getting sick of him, it’s hard to carry on alone.

He had always liked Leclerc, ever since they were karting together. He had been the only other constant in his rollercoaster ride of a life, but he’d never had the courage to try and have something with him. He knew, deep down, that it would end like Carlos, or like Daniel, and he would be whisked away from him in an instant. He couldn’t help doing what he did, it was just the inevitable beginning of something that would blossom into something slightly different and then something else would come in and break up their little something and they’d both be apart again.

He’d repressed his feelings for so long that they were threatening to leak out of every pore on his body. He was close to loving Charles, and that was too much too soon. He had to take it slow, calm, and steady. He wouldn’t fuck this one up. He couldn’t.

His alarm clock beeped obediently, reminding him that he had to get up and face the world. 6:30. It was going to be a long ride back to Monaco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, a verstappen-centric chapter had been a long time coming i think. poor max, he's been chucked around a lot. he just wants to be happy, but then again, don't we all...


	7. back to monaco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter ended up being much longer than i expected heck. enjoy!

The hall stretched out in front of Charles, the impending corner seeming to get further and further away with every step. Resisting the urge to look back, he turned the corner and hurried round to his room. He stopped outside Vettel’s, contemplating knocking, but he figured he was probably asleep. This was something he had to deal with on his own.

He swiped his key card and stepped into his room, which suddenly felt very small. The door fell shut behind him and he started to pack up his suitcase, focusing on folding his clothes and slotting the rest of his belongings between them, on top of them, anywhere. He finished far too soon, seeing the clock flash 6:00 as he zipped up the case.

The steadily rising sun shone through his window, drawing golden patterns on every surface in the room, and his thoughts turned to the previous night. They had been quiet, but to Charles the noise was deafening. To admit his bisexuality to himself was one thing, but admitting it to someone else was another. He had always seen it as something to bury; it couldn’t be helped, but he didn’t have to think about it, and he could go on with his life and date girls and never think about boys again, and it had worked until now.

He didn’t know what it was about Max. He knew he never would have done it if Max hadn’t acted first. He had always been shy like that, afraid of the consequences, never doing what he wanted to do, only what he knew was right. They had known each other since they were teenagers, but they hadn’t especially been friends. Max had always kept his distance, and Charles had been too busy to even notice him most of the time.

He couldn’t be with Max like that and he knew it, but deep down there was that spark of hope. Max had pulled it out from the depths of his soul and held it out to him, begging him to take it and be happy, and he had grasped it with both hands. The only thing they could do now was pray that the spark didn’t burn them.

Charles reached over and unplugged his alarm before it could go off. He did the final room checks, picking up his phone from the bed and…oh. 4 missed calls from Giada, and the battery was on 3%. He had already packed his charger, right at the bottom of the suitcase. He sighed and made his way, case in hand, to Vettel’s room. When he reached the door he was about to knock when a hand reached around him, unlocking the door and letting him in from the outside.

Vettel helped Charles get his bags inside and hurried to open the curtains, bathing the room in natural light. It felt much bigger than Charles and Max’s. Vettel had packed the night before, and his bags were neatly stacked by the desk. He stayed standing by the window, looking out at the awakening city. Charles walked over and sat on the end of the bed.

“Can I use your charger?”

Vettel let out a grunt of acknowledgement and gestured towards the desk. Leclerc reached over and plugged his phone in, flicking the socket on and feeling relief wash over him as he saw the screen flash with a green battery. He fell back on the bed and rolled to the centre, staring at the ceiling. He was certain the room was nicer than his own.

“Are we going back to Monaco today?”

He knew they were, but he had nothing else to talk about.

“Well, you are. I’m going home.”

“Oh yeah, Switzerland. Must be nice.”

Vettel turned around and looked him, confusion painted across his face.

“Must be nice? Charles, you’ve been to my house.”

Charles couldn’t help giggling as he propped himself up on his elbows. Vettel came and sat by him, unable to hold back a sad smile as he looked at the youngster.

“When did you go to bed last night?”

Charles shrugged, blushing slightly at the memories.

“I don’t know. I left my phone in my room.”

“Oh, so you did stay the night with him?”

The blush deepened and he indignantly pushed himself upright.

“Well, you stayed the night with whoever you were waiting for last night.”

This time it was Sebastian’s turn to blush, giving Leclerc a small shove on the shoulder. He fell down, rolling around the bed as if he had been shot.

“Owwwwww! You got me! I’ll never race again! How could you do this?”

Vettel laughed and considered playing along, instead deciding to pull the younger man up and onto his feet.

“Come on, it’s time for breakfast. Last hotel breakfast, yeah? Then we get to eat in our homes again.”

“But my phone’s barely charged!”

“Just take the charger, you can juice up on the plane.”

Charles grumbled and dragged his belongings up, following Vettel out of the room and into the lift. As the doors were closing, he heard a familiar call from the hallway. Vettel went to hold the door but Charles was there in an instant, smacking the button to keep them open as Max shoved his overpacked suitcase into the tiny metal box. A smile spread across his face when he caught Charles’ eye, brightening the whole elevator with his wild grin.

“Hey, Charlie!”

The smile dimmed slightly as he turned to Vettel, remembering that he was at least vaguely aware of their late night adventures.

“Morning, Vettel.”

“Verstappen.” Vettel responded with a curt nod and pulled out his phone, pretending he wasn’t there as the doors closed and the lift set off downwards.

Verstappen and Leclerc stood for a moment, neither able to find the words to cut through the silence until Max finally piped up.

“So, back to Monaco until China, right?”

Shit, Charles had forgotten Max lived in Monaco as well. A small smile escaped his lips at the thought of living only a short drive away from him.

“Yeah, back to Monaco. Are we on the same flight?”

“Probably, hold on. The one that goes to Nice?”

They both pulled out their plane tickets and compared seats. Charles was the first to notice;

“Oh, we’re next to each other!”

Vettel stifled a laugh, poorly attempting to cover it up by coughing. Verstappen scowled, but said nothing. He’d had his run-ins with Vettel in the past, and he knew that he was hard to argue with. He also knew that Charles liked him, and so he would have to tolerate him at the very least if they were going to make this work; especially because, if it didn’t work, Vettel would be the first to know.

The elevator came to a stop halfway down the hotel, and the doors slid open to reveal Daniel Ricciardo. Max swallowed down the lump that had materialised in his throat as the three men backed up to allow the Australian some space.

“Alright guys?”

The trio mumbled in acknowledgement, Verstappen feeling that the lift had suddenly shrunk. He looked at his feet and leant against the wall. Ricciardo remained fixated on the door, refusing to turn around. The Renault logo on the back of his cap danced in front of Max’s face, tormenting him, reminding him of everything they went through together, memories he hadn’t revisited willingly for a long time.

Leclerc noticed Max’s sudden change in attitude, and shot him a questioning look. Max simply shook his head and Charles left it there. Suddenly, Verstappen felt something tugging at his clenched fist. Charles’ little finger was poking at his own, and he released the fist he was holding to allow their pinkies to link.

Max was filled with a sense of warmth, even just having such a tiny amount of contact. Their hands were obscured by Max’s suitcase which stood between them, and despite the almost public display of affection, he felt safe for the first time in a very long time. It was such a refreshing feeling. He had almost forgotten what it felt like.

The lift hit the ground floor and the two men separated, grabbing their suitcases and trailing after Ricciardo towards their respective team tables. The rest of the Ferrari team was slowly trickling in, bleary eyes and bedheads taking their places at the neatly organised table. Breakfast was rushed, everyone eager to get to the airport, but not Leclerc. he knew what going home meant; as soon as he stepped off that plane, he’d have to face reality again. His girlfriend would be waiting, he’d have to train for the next race, and he’d have countless other things to do when he honestly didn’t want to do anything at all.

They were herded onto the airport shuttle busses, and when they got to the airport, it was business as usual from there. Charles was going to text Max but his phone had died completely, leaving him stranded to find the gate alone. He made his way through check-in and was working out the flight times when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He was getting sick of people sneaking up on him like that.

Max let his hand linger on his shoulder for a second, only a second longer than necessary, before wondering out loud.

“Which one’s ours?”

Charles compared the ticket to the electronic screen above them.

“That one.”

He pointed to the flight, which had a wait time of 3 hours.

“Oh, great, time to kill. Are you hungry?”

Charles looked at Max with a baffled look on his face.

“Max, we’ve just had breakfast!”

“Yeah, so?”

His blank expression told Charles that he really didn’t see a problem eating again less than an hour after breakfast. He gave in and they found a small café just off from the main eating areas. It was quaint, and surprisingly empty, with only a few other travellers dotted around. The other drivers on their way back to Monaco had grouped together and headed to some huge restaurant on the other side of the gate.

Charles sat at a table at the back while Max ordered his second breakfast. He soon returned, triumphantly holding a plate of currywurst in one hand and two bottles of coke in the other. He placed one in front of Charles before setting his own plate down on the table.

“I thought you might be thirsty.”

Charles stared in disbelief at the murder scene of a plate in front of him.

“How did you manage to find the one place in the whole of Bahrain that sells currywurst?”

Max shrugged as he sat down, grabbing a fork and shovelling the first of the chips into his mouth. Charles watched with a kind of disgusted fascination at how fast he was able to eat. Max looked up and saw him staring.

“What?” He mumbled through a mouthful of sausage. Charles laughed and looked away.

“That honestly looks disgusting.”

Max put on a faux act of indignance, acting incredibly offended that he would even suggest that currywurst wasn’t the greatest dish known to man.

“Have you even tried it before?”

Charles shook his head, and before he could speak again Max was already holding out a chunk of sausage on a fork.

“Don’t knock it.”

Charles gave him a look of trepidation before leaning in and biting the sausage off the fork in one go. He chewed for a second, waiting for the spice to kick in. He thought it might not be too bad when it exploded in his mouth, almost causing him to throw up right in the middle of the café. He forced the sausage down before grabbing the coke and chugging to remove the sensation from his mouth.

Max was laughing all the way through this ordeal, but Charles was less amused. He slumped onto the table, burying his face in his arms.

“How can you eat that? It’s awful!”

Max had already resumed eating, finishing off the scraps that were left on the plate.

“Sorry. I should have known you can’t handle spicy foods.”

Charles sat up and looked away again. He let off a grumble as his mouth slowly recovered from the painful assault on his taste buds.

“Hey, wait, look at me? You’ve got a bit of sauce on your chin.”

Charles reluctantly turned and Max reached forwards, wiping the orange glob off with a napkin. Once he was sure that all the sauce had been cleaned off he ran his thumb over the Monégasque’s chin, letting it rest for just a moment before dropping his hand to the table. It took everything not to lean forwards and kiss him. He was losing himself already, hypnotised by those gorgeous blue eyes.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, so quietly he wasn’t sure he even said it.

Charles blushed and smiled slightly.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. Wanna go look around the duty free?”

“Yeah, okay.”

* * *

They got on the plane together, drawing some looks from the other drivers, but Max wasn’t bothered. As far as they were concerned, they were sitting together on the plane, and that was it. They boarded and took their seats in first class, Charles stealing the window seat, despite his ticket being for the one next to it. Max said nothing, but vowed to get him back at some point.

They sat on the runway for a while, waiting for take-off. The air hostesses came round and offered everyone complimentary champagne before the flight eventually started. It stopped in Kuwait and Amsterdam before finally landing in Nice, where they would have to cross over into Monaco. 16 hours together in a cramped space surrounded by other people wasn’t ideal for either of them.

“Hey, check it out! They have Netflix on here!”

Charles looked over to Max’s screen. They did, indeed, have Netflix. He reached over and plugged his headphones into one of the two jacks.

“Find something good.”

“How about drive to survive? They really got my good angles in those interviews.”

Charles rolled his eyes and kept looking.

“Hey, they got yours too. You were still at Sauber back then. Gotta tell you, you look better in a Ferrari.”

“Well, I guess red is my colour.”

They carried on scrolling through Netflix, finally settling on some action movie that Max said was ‘the best, so many explosions’. Max looked over at Charles, who was already engrossed in the film. Maybe the flight wouldn’t be so long after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me, frantically googling flights from bahrain to monaco for extra realism but ignoring the fact that first class seats aren't usually next to each other* reality can be whatever i want...also vettel never had a moustache in this story. it was a fashion disaster vettel. why would you do that.  
> minor edit: so was anybody going to tell me i wrote 'brown eyes' in this story about two blue eyed people or was i supposed to find that out rereading it myself


	8. red like your ferrari

The flight passed mostly without incident. The two of them watched movies, ate fancy foods, and slept their way through the long haul, and by the time they touched down in Nice they felt like death. They dragged their luggage into the bus’s side storage before collapsing in their seats. The jet lag was already creeping in, filling Charles’ body with an overbearing sense of wooziness. He couldn’t help but let his head roll onto Max’s shoulder as he drifted off.

Max jumped a little at the contact, but he soon settled and leant his own head on Charles’. Fuck the other drivers, he was too tired to care what they thought. A small part of him still screamed to separate, push him off, but he just closed his eyes and leant into the soft brown mess of hair. They could have this.

The bus ride from Nice wasn’t long, only half an hour, but Charles was asleep by the time they crossed the border. As the bus rolled to a stop, Max shook Charles’ shoulder.

“Hey, hey Charlie, we’re home.”

Charles blinked his eyes open, looking around as though he’d never been inside a bus before. His eyes were soft, and Max almost felt sorry for him as he stumbled out of his seat, wandering towards the door. Max grabbed both their backpacks and followed him off the bus, the early morning light barely illuminating the street as he made his way to the luggage compartment. He lugged his suitcase out and trudged towards the bench that Charles had taken residence on.

“You forgot your backpack.”

The Monégasque shuffled over, patting the now empty space next to him. Max sat and dropped the bag in front of Charles. He looked lost, and Max realised that he was definitely feeling sorry for him now. He reached into his own bag and produced a can of Red Bull, holding it in front of Charles’ face.

“Don’t chug it this time.”

Charles took the can and looked at it with mild confusion before cracking it open and taking a small sip.

“It’s warm.”

“Well, it’s been in my bag for a long ass time.”

Charles screwed up his nose slightly, which Max thought was adorable. He braced himself before taking a larger gulp.

“Better than nothing-”

“Charles!”

A sudden female voice startled the two men, causing them to look towards the source of the noise. Giada was walking towards them, somehow looking like a million dollars despite the fact that it was just gone 6 in the morning. Charles shot Max an apologetic look and handed the Red Bull back before grabbing his bags and walking up to greet her. Max stayed on the bench, watching the couple retreat to Giada’s car as the model started nattering in Italian. Charles turned back for one final look at Max before walking into the car, falling over the door. Max laughed as Giada glided round to help him get into the car before they drove off.

He sighed, knowing he would go home to an empty house. The other drivers had all gone their separate ways, and he was left alone on the bench, staring at the rising sun over the port. The sky was streaked red as the sun pushed its way up into the sky, blasting hot rays down onto the boats filling the port. The sunlight shone through the boat sails, creating a forest of feather-like trees on the crystal blue water.

“Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.” he mumbled to nobody, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture of the gorgeous scene. He opened Instagram and went to post it, but stopped himself at the last second. Instead, he opened up messages, and it automatically brought up Charles’ contact.

 

[sent: one attachment]<

red like your ferrari ;)<

 

He didn’t expect a response. Charles had to go back to Giada, which was another can of worms that they hadn’t touched on. In fact, the many cans of worms that came part and parcel with their little affair remained unopened in front of them, largely because they had been ignoring them in favour of currywurst and action movies. He knew they would have to discuss it at some point, and he just hoped that it wouldn’t be too painful for either of them.

The sky was swirling purple now, the blue of the day threading with the dark of the night, leaving only few red lines running through the dark like stitches. He took a swig of the lukewarm Red Bull, letting his imagination run wild. He imagined taking Charles to the top of the atmosphere, wrapping the blanket of sky around him, the stars dusting his hair like snowflakes, protecting him from everything that stood in their way. He didn’t even want to consider what would happen if his dad found out about Charles.

He got up from the bench and dragged his bags with him, setting off on the short trek to his apartment. The streets were almost empty that early in the morning, and he was enjoying the quiet, the only noise the sound of the ocean lapping against the boats in the port. After a whole week of having engines blaring in his ears it was nice to have a break from it.

He reached his apartment building soon enough and made his way inside. He stepped into the lift and went up, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw his door beaming back at him.

He jammed the key in the lock and practically fell inside, shutting the door behind him and slumping on his sofa. The sun was slowly rising higher and higher in the sky, bathing the room with golden light through the huge glass doors. Max groaned, feeling the exhaustion setting in. He shuffled around a bit, pulling a cushion under his head and turning the TV on. He could train tomorrow.

He checked his phone. No response from Charles yet. He didn’t want to go to sleep in case he messaged back, so he kept the phone close to him, waiting for the buzz.

* * *

 

Charles greeted Giada with the usual cheek kisses, mentally switching to Italian as she started relaying the events of her weekend to him at hyper speed. He turned around to take one last look at Max, completely missing the fact that Giada’s car was right in front of him. He hit the door, his legs buckling as he face-planted in the passenger seat.

He could hear Max laughing as Giada pulled him back out by his shirt collar, opening the door and gently shoving him into the seat the right way up. She walked round to the driver’s side, starting the car and slamming the throttle.

“I can’t believe you did that! You spend your life in cars and you can’t even get into one properly, you stop talking to me for one weekend and you forget how to walk? You didn’t respond to my calls at all, what were you doing? Not even a text! I was worried about you! I almost didn’t pick you up, but here we are.”

Lucky me, Charles thought. He looked over at Giada. Behind the designer sunglasses he could see she was genuinely pissed off, and she was right to be. The fuzzy feeling in his head started to clear as he fully came to terms with what he had done, what he was continuing to do. How could he tell her he was cheating on her with his biggest rival?

“My phone died and I forgot to charge it. Sorry, I know I should have called.”

There, technically not a lie. His phone _had_ died, and he _had_ forgotten to  charge it. She didn’t need to know any more than that just yet. His mind was burning as his sleep-deprived brain failed to come up with any possible ways to break it off. He couldn’t just break it off right there and then, they’d been dating for going on four years, he had to let her down gently, but he also knew he’d have to tell her the truth, and there’s no gentle way to say ‘hey, I kind of got off with another guy, and I’d like to do it again, and I don’t love you anymore so we should probably-’.

“Charles!” Giada’s fingers snapped in front of his face, pulling him back to reality. He made a quiet noise of acknowledgement, despite having no idea what she’d just been talking about. She filled him in, knowing he had been ignoring her.

“Dinner tonight, where should we go?”

He shrugged, slowly waking up as they sped through the deserted streets.

“I don’t mind. How about Avenue 31?”

“Oh, so you do mind?”

“No, I was just-fine, where do you want to go then?”

“Oh, I don’t mind either.”

The car was silent while Charles waited for the inevitable follow up.

“I just think it’s funny how-”

Yup, there it was. They had been arguing more and more recently. He figured that’s just what happened when you spent too long with someone, you started to get sick of them. He hoped that it would make the break-up easier; maybe she would have seen it coming.

The car rolled to a stop outside Charles’ apartment building. Giada helped Charles with his bags as they headed into the lift and up to his flat. He knew that Giada was pissed at him for a multitude of reasons, and he was surprised that she even went with him into the apartment.

He checked his phone, realising he had a text from Max.

 

>[received: one attachment]

>red like your ferrari ;)

 

The picture was of the sunrise from earlier, red as anything; it was beautiful, like a painting. He was about to respond when Giada materialised in front of him, a scowl painting her face.

“Who are you texting?”

Charles felt his cheeks heat up as he turned the screen off, pocketing the phone as if he was stealing it.

“My mother, she wants to meet me soon.”

She didn’t believe him, and he knew it. He quickly changed the topic to avoid drawing further ire.

“Are you staying?”

She walked back to the kitchen counter to grab her handbag.

“No, I’m meeting a friend for breakfast. He’ll be waiting for me, and I don’t want to be late. I’ll see you tonight.”

She leant in and planted a chaste kiss on his lips before speeding out of the flat. Charles thought for a second and called after her.

“Wait, who?”

She glared at him from inside the lift as the doors closed, carrying her down and away from Charles.

He huffed, slightly confused, even though he knew what that look meant. At least, he thought he knew. Was she cheating on him? In a strange way, he hoped she was. It would make the breakup so much easier. He walked over and lay down on his sofa, turning on the TV and pulling out his phone. He hit mute on the remote and called Max, hoping that he wasn’t napping.

The phone barely rang before he heard Max’s voice on the other end.

_“Hey, Charlie!”_

“Hey, sorry for abandoning you earlier.”

_“No, it’s okay, I get it. Are you okay? You faceplanted pretty bad.”_

Charles cringed at the memory.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Giada is super pissed at me, I zoned out completely when she was yelling at me in the car.”

_“Ouch. What was she yelling at you about?”_

“I didn’t call her all weekend. She called me four times when I was in your room.”

Max was silent for a second.

_“She called you during the night?”_

“Yeah, why?”

_“Nothing, it just sounds like she knows something. I mean, why else would she call you when most people would be asleep?”_

Charles hadn’t thought of that.

“I think she’s cheating on me.”

_“Oh.”_

“She said she was meeting a friend for breakfast, a guy friend, and she wouldn’t say who it was.”

Max didn’t say anything.

“I’m going to break up with her.”

_“Wait, really?”_

“Yeah. Not just because of you, but partly.”

He realised after he had said it that it sounded a lot worse out loud than in his head.

_“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to-“_

“No, I do want to. I’ve…wanted to for a while. I just didn’t really have a reason. Now I have a reason.”

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to screw things up like that.”_

Max’s voice sounded guilty, and Charles was quick to reassure him.

“It’s not your fault, it’s better that I break up with her anyway. We’ve been growing apart, and if we’re both cheating on each other, then…I’m going to do it tonight, at dinner.”

_“As long as she doesn’t think you’re proposing. That would be really awkward.”_

Charles laughed.

“She’s not stupid, don’t worry. Anyway, I should probably go and train.”

_“What? You’ve only just got back from a 16 hour flight! Give yourself a break, Charlie, come round mine.”_

Charles thought about it for a moment. Max had a point, and he’d have nothing else to do all day. Besides, he’d need some help working out what to say to Giada later on.

“Okay. Where do you live?”

_“Hold on, I’ll text you the address. You can drive, right?”_

Charles couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle before checking his messages for the address.

“Got it. See you later, alligator.”

_“Really?”_

“I’m not hanging up until you say it.”

He could hear Max’s faint laugh of disbelief down the phone.

_“Okay, fine. In a while, crocodile.”_

Charles smiled and hung up, emptying his day bag and grabbing a change of clothes and a phone charger, stuffing them inside before heading out of the door and down to his car. Now all he had to do was find Max’s apartment. He entered it into his satnav and reversed out of his drive. Time to have some fun for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have y'all seen max's irl apartment? ITS SO NICE WTF i mean i know he's a millionaire and all but still it's a hell of a nice house...also i don't actually know if charles lives in monaco still but i can't see a reason he wouldn't so. hope you enjoyed! <3


	9. don't fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof sorry if this isn't great, i've rlly been going thru it atm rip

Charles pulled into the car park and pulled his bag out from the passenger seat. He walked outside and looked up at the flats. The building was a pale orange colour, and around five stories tall. The open balcony windows looked out onto the gorgeous expanse of ocean, and Charles felt a little insecure about his own flat, despite the fact that it probably cost around the same amount. He realised that he had no idea which floor Max lived on, and was about to text him when he heard a shout from above.

“Hey! I’m up here!”

Max was leaning over his top floor balcony, and Charles felt his heart drop a little.

“Don’t fall!”

Max laughed and walked back out of sight, and Charles breathed a sigh of relief before walking through the door and into the lift. Once in the lift, he felt a little strange. He wondered how much of his life he spent in lifts, because it seemed to be most of it. The lift came to a stop and he saw that Max had already opened the door, so he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Max’s apartment was light; Charles didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t bright walls and off-white furniture. The floor to ceiling windows reminded Charles of the hotel in Bahrain. A light breeze hit his face and he followed the cool stream of air out to the balcony where Max was sat at the table, looking out over the ocean.

“Hey.”

Max turned and grinned, gesturing to the empty seat next to him.

“Hey! You found it then.”

Charles sat down and looked at the vast array of food on the table in front of him.

“Yeah, it’s a nice place. Is this your breakfast?”

The table was adorned with various bowls of fruit, salami, and bread, with a huge jug of orange juice. The spread was so meticulously placed that Charles couldn’t believe Max normally ate breakfast like this.

“Yeah, are you hungry?”

Charles reached out and picked a handful melon from a bowl, eating each piece individually before reaching out for the juice. However, Max whisked the jug away before he could grab it, and moved round behind Charles. He leant over the Monégasque, resting his right hand on his shoulder as he used his left to fill the glass in front of Charles. Once the glass was full, he set the jug down and leant in until their cheeks were almost touching.

“Hospitality is key.”

Charles turned his head, catching Max’s lips in a soft kiss. Max made a small noise of shock before leaning into it, turning his own head to allow Charles better access. He brought his hand up from Charles’ shoulder, running it through his messy hair as the kiss deepened. They separated, and Charles was almost as surprised as Max at his own confidence.

Max walked back round to his own seat, his back facing the ocean. Charles could barely focus. He was physically and mentally exhausted. He groaned weakly and let his head fall onto the table. The jet lag was fully upon him now, and he realised just how tired he was.

“You okay?”

Max had already shoved a handful of salami into his mouth and was about to  wash it down with a swig of juice when he noticed Charles faceplanting.

“I’m not that bad at kissing, am I?”

Charles let out a muffled laugh and propped himself up by his elbow. His vision was swirling a little from sleep deprivation, and he could see a fuzz around Max’s head as he continued shovelling his breakfast. Max looked into his eyes, and he was filled with an immense feeling of comfort that he didn’t quite understand. He felt his eyes drooping, and resolved to close them for just a second, just to rest them. The sun was pretty bright, after all…

* * *

 

Max watched with cautious curiosity as Charles fell asleep on the table in front of him. He was tired too, but not that tired. He was surprised and mildly concerned that he had actually managed to drive without crashing, but he concluded that he’d raced tired before, so it probably wasn’t that different.

He scooped Charles up into his arms and carried him into the living room. He felt his mop of hair gently nudging into his neck as he tightened his grip round his shoulders. He lowered the Monégasque onto the sofa and tucked a pillow under his head. He went to fetch a blanket from his room; digging through the closet he found a few candidates, but the winning blanket was a gorgeous shade of blue, adorned with the Red Bull logo at the bottom. Max chuckled slightly as he draped the blanket over Charles’ sleeping form, and felt a twinge of guilt as he clutched the top, snuggling into the corner of the sofa.

He sat on the other end and couldn’t stop himself from staring. He was beautiful. Everything about him was perfect, and Max felt a familiar but unwelcome feeling rise in his chest. Looking at him sleeping so peacefully on his sofa filled him with a sense of dread. They’d only been a…well, they didn’t even have a word for it yet, but whatever it was, it had only been going on for a couple of days, and Max could already feel himself getting attached. He knew that he’d get too close too quickly, and Charles would realise how terrible he actually was, or get tired of diving in the dark, sick of knowing looks from other drivers, and leave him alone, all alone again.

He shook the cloud of dark thoughts from his head, realising his phone was buzzing in his pocket. However, when he saw the caller, the dark clouds came rushing back, swirling around his head and knocking the wind from his chest. He gingerly accepted the call and made his way to the balcony.

“Hey, dad.”

_“Oh, finally you pick up the phone. Thought you might have actually been training.”_

“I’m having a break, we only landed in Nice a few hours ago.”

_“We?”_

Shit.

“Me and the other guys who live in Monaco.”

He held his breath as his dad was silent on the other end.

_“*sigh* Is somebody with you?”_

Max looked at Charles through the open door. He was curled up on the sofa, his face buried in the arm, and a shot of fear carried up his spine.

“No, nobody else is here. Just me.”

_“Good. You don’t need any more distractions.”_

He made a vague noise of agreement, taking another glance at Charles. He couldn’t let his dad find out about this, no way.

“Well, I’m gonna go. See you later, dad.”

_“Wait-”_

He hung up and quickly turned his phone to ‘do not disturb’ mode. He knew Jos would call again, and he couldn’t be bothered to talk to him any more than that. He went back inside and Charles rolled over to face him, blinking his eyes open and yawning.

“Who was that?”

“My dad. Doesn’t matter.”

“Why did you go outside to take the call? You were talking Dutch anyway, I can’t understand.”

Max took his place at the other end of the sofa, dropping his phone on the table beside it.

“I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Charles grinned, laughing his adorable laugh. Max could feel his chest tightening, and an unbearable guilt flooded his brain. Talking to his dad always made that happen.

Charles threw the blanket off and slid across the sofa until he was right up against Max. He flung his arms around his waist and laid his head in his chest, squeezing tightly and looking up at Max’s face. The exchange was wordless, but that was okay; it said everything it needed to. Max hugged back, rubbing his hand in circles on Charles’ back.

He lifted Charles up slightly as he laid down across the sofa, and they shuffled until they were lying down, facing each other. Max’s instincts got the better of him and he leant forwards, bringing Charles into a gentle kiss. When their mouths parted, Charles snuggled into Max’s chest again, unable to stop a smile from gracing his lips.

“Let’s just stay like this for a while.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The sun continued to rise in the sky as they lay together, entwined in each other’s arms, slowly drifting off to sleep. Max hadn’t planned to spend the day sleeping, but on reflection, falling asleep in Charles’ arms was one of the best feelings in the world. All thoughts of his dad seemed to slowly fade into background noise as tiredness overcame him and he dozed off, temporarily at peace for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter should fall slightly easier. i know what i'm writing for that one, this was more of a placeholder so sorry if it wasn't really up to scratch ;-;


	10. kijk me aan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you google translate for my life

The evening sun sat idly in the sky, hanging above the vast blue ocean, its rays bouncing off the gentle waves and dissipating as they lapped against the boats in the harbour. Charles awoke to an empty space next to him and the panic barely had time to set in before he saw Max sitting at the end of the sofa, gripping a controller and staring intensely at the TV. The game of FIFA was swinging neither way, and with less than a real time minute left, he was fighting hard to get the winning goal.

Charles sat up and moved over to sit next to Max, who didn’t take his eyes off the screen, focused entirely on the match. The players danced on the screen, charging towards the opposition goal, herding the ball forwards.

“Come on, come on, comeon comeon comeoncomeon-YES!”

Max yelled as he shot the ball into the back of the net, leaping skywards and almost throwing the controller into the ceiling. Charles jumped, settling when the Dutchman fell back down, joining him on the sofa.

“Sorry, sorry!”

The game continued for a few seconds before the final whistle blew, and Max breathed a sigh of relief and chucked the controller to one side. He laughed and turned to Charles, who still looked mildly shocked.

“Sorry, it was the final match, I had to win.”

Charles nodded in agreement, still waking up from his nap. He checked his phone and his blood ran cold.

“Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“I have eight missed calls from Giada, shit, she’s going to be so pissed at me!”

Max glanced at his own phone, still sitting on the table, unused and unchecked. Charles dialled Giada’s number, his heart beating a mile a minute. From the moment Giada picked up, he knew that he was about to get a verbal beating.

_“Where the fuck have you been all day?! I’ve been calling you again, and again, and again, and you don’t even pick up, I went to your apartment and you’re just gone, don’t even answer the door, who are you with? Where are you?”_

Charles bit his lip before responding.

“I’m at a friend’s house, I was sleeping.”

_“You went round a friend’s house to sleep?! To SLEEP?! You are a lying bastard-”_

“Oh, I’m a lying bastard? Who were you with at breakfast this morning? You ran off and ignored me, so who was he?”

Max sat in fascinated silence, desperately trying to figure out what was going on. He didn’t know much Italian, but from Charles’ tone of voice, whatever was being said wasn’t very pleasant.

_“I-I don’t have to tell you who I’m with all the time, I have my own life, you’re not all I have, you’re so self-obsessed!”_

Charles was getting frustrated, pushing down the urge to raise his voice too much.

“I’m not self-obsessed, I tell you the truth about where I am and you refuse to do the same? No, I refuse to do this on the phone, I’m going home and you can come and talk to me if you want, but if you don’t, then I don’t know where we stand.”

He slammed the hang up button and grabbed a cushion, screaming into it before throwing it back onto the sofa. He dropped to the floor and slammed the wood with his palm, leaning onto Max as he sat beside him.

“So, what were you yelling about?”

“I wasn’t yelling. Was I?”

Max nodded.

“You were yelling pretty loud. It was all in Italian though, so…”

“I told her to meet me at my apartment. Shit, I have to get home.”

He got up and headed for the door.

“Don’t you want your bag?”

“I’ll be back later. You’re not busy, are you?”

The look of surprise on Max’s face was clear but he shook his head. Charles swallowed a little.

“Good, I’ll see you later then.”

He rushed out of the apartment and stepped into the lift, and was about to hit the buttons when Max appeared beside him, bag in hand, and did it for him. He looked up and tried his best to look annoyed.

“I can do it myself, you know.”

“I know you can. But you haven’t actually planned what you’re going to say, and I thought you might want some help. Also, you just woke up from a ten hour nap and I don’t think you should be driving.”

Charles folded his arms and looked at the floor. Those were both valid points, but he was pissed off, and he didn’t want to give away how happy it made him that Max cared for him that much. He also couldn’t believe he’d actually slept for ten hours. Finally, he grumbled in agreement and they left the lift together, Charles throwing Max his keys.

“Be careful with it, I know what you’re like in a car.”

The Dutchman laughed as they climbed into the car. Charles pulled his seatbelt on and put Max’s sunshade down.

“Charles, we’re inside.”

“Yeah, but we’ll be outside in a minute. And put your seatbelt on.”

Max scoffed as he tapped the ‘home’ button on the satnav.

“It’s not that far, I don’t need one.”

Charles reached round and tugged at the metal tab, dragging it down and clicking it into place.

“Accidents can happen at any time, you should know that.”

His throat was a little dry, but he laughed it off and adjusted his own sunshade as Max started the car and reversed out of the parking garage. The sun was lower in the sky now, and Charles felt quite smug at having the foresight to set the sunshades.

“So, what are you going to do? Are you breaking up with her?”

“I…yes, I can’t stay with her now, can I? I cheated on her, I can’t betray her like that.”

Max’s voice wavered slightly as he spoke.

“You won’t tell her about…us, right? Because she could tell someone-”

“No, don’t worry about that. I’ll just say I cheated on her, and if she asks who with, I’ll say it was some random fan.”

“Okay, cool. You should ask about that guy she met for breakfast for sure. If she’s cheating on you as well then you can use it as leverage if she wants to go all public with the ‘feel sorry for me’ narrative.”

Charles clutched his arms to his chest and looked out the window. The golden light from the sun was casting beautiful patterns on the buildings as they sped past, counting down the minutes to arrival like a tally.

“Do you love her?”

Charles froze. After ignoring that question for such a long time, to actually hear it said was too much.

“I-I don’t know. I don’t know!”

His voice broke as the tears started to leak from his eyes. He was filled with emotions, but he had no idea which ones, or how to deal with them. He tried to stop crying, but the sobs kept coming and he put his head on the dashboard and ended up crying louder than ever.

“Hey, hey, hey-oh, Jesus Christ, okay, hold on.”

Max pulled over into the nearest layby, completely ignoring almost every traffic law ever invented by crossing over from the right side of the road to the layby on the left. The car rolled to a stop and when Max undid their seatbelts Charles fell into his chest and screamed, screamed his lungs out, and Max pulled him closer, his warmth the only thing preventing Charles from going totally off the deep end.

“I’d ask if you’re okay, but…I really don’t think you are, man. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Charles pushed back slightly so he was facing Max. His eyes were warm, and he could tell there was genuine concern behind them.

“It’s not about whether I want to. I have to. I can’t keep up a lie, I know I can’t. If I try, then it will all go wrong, like just now. Look at me! I could never risk someone finding out about us, because…I don’t want to lose you.”

There was surprise and disbelief swimming behind Max’s blue pools now, covered with a thin film of worry.

“You’d really do that for me?”

“Whatever we have, I don’t want it to end. I want to be with you. I don’t know where we’ll go in the future, but right now, I want you, and I’m certain about it.”

Max turned red and leant forwards, drawing Charles into a tender kiss. When they pulled away, he wiped his eyes on his palms, tears threatening to burst out.

“Oh man, you’re gonna make me cry now.”

Charles laughed and rubbed his own eyes.

“Ah, we should get going. Giada will be at my flat by now.”

Max clicked his seatbelt in place and Charles followed suit. Max checked both sides before swinging out of the layby and heading where the satnav told him.

_“Au bout de la rue, prendre a droite.”_

“Hey, you’re lucky I had 5 years of French at school, or I would have turned your satnav to Dutch.”

“Did you really need the satnav? It’s not that far, I could have told you myself.”

Max turned right and pulled into Charles’ designated parking space, noting Giada’s car parked a little further down the road.

“I’ll wait…shit, where should I wait?”

Charles got out of the car, beckoning Max to follow. They stepped into the main foyer, and Charles pointed gingerly to the bathrooms.

“I think that’s the only place she won’t think to look for my secret girlfriend.”

“Fun. Good luck, yeah? Text me when she’s gone.”

Charles sighed and hugged Max, pulling away much sooner than he would have liked to, despite the fact that they were alone. He took the lift up, and as soon as the lift doors opened Giada was on him like a hawk.

“Oh, so you finally show up? You finally remember where your house is? You’re a racing driver and you take this long to drive to your own house? No wonder you never win.”

Charles pushed past her, ignoring the jibe, and unlocked his door, reluctantly letting her inside. He cleared his throat and started.

“Giada, this has been a long time coming, but we need to break up.”

Saying it felt like a weight off his shoulders. She looked at him, making a face which screamed ‘explain?’.

“We’ve been arguing a lot recently, and…in Bahrain, I…I cheated on you, and I couldn’t live with myself if I stayed with you after that.”

Giada made a low humming noise, fiddling with her nails and looking at the floor.

“Who was he?”

His heart skipped a beat.

“What do you mean?”

She looked up at him, eyes still obscured by huge sunglasses, unreadable.

“I’m not stupid, Charles. I know what happens when you all go off to some foreign country together. Just be careful.”

“I’m sick and tired of people telling me to be careful!”

His voice echoed through his apartment, bouncing off the walls and making the expansive front room feel like a tiny box.

“I’m twenty one! I can look after myself, I can make my own decisions! I don’t need everyone to baby me all the time, if I want to do this then I will, and nobody is going to stop me! So this is it. We’re done.”

His breath was short, and he bit his tongue before he revealed more than he should. Giada looked at him, her face betraying nothing.

“Well, if that’s all, then I’ll go.”

She moved towards the door but Charles blocked her exit.

“Actually, wait, the guy you met for breakfast-”

“Just a friend. But now that I’m single again, who knows.”

Charles stepped to one side to allow her past, and she stopped to place one last kiss on Charles’ cheek.

“Ciao, Charles.”

“Ciao, Giada.”

And that was that. Four years of dating, over with nothing more than a ‘ciao’ on either side. Charles thought that he’d feel more than what he was feeling, because all he was feeling was relief. He texted Max to come upstairs, and slid down the wall outside the flat, waiting for the lift doors to open.

He pulled his shoes off, dropping his socks into them and chucking them through the door. The cool stone on his feet was grounding, and he closed his eyes and waited for the feelings to come, for the reality of what he had just done to set in, for even a tear to come to his eye, but nothing came. All he could think about was-

“You okay?”

Max. He opened his eyes and took Max’s hand as he helped him up.

“That went better than I thought it would. She knows it was a guy though.”

“Wait, what?”

“When I said I cheated on her, she asked who he was. Not she, he. I just denied it. I don’t think she’ll go public.”

They walked into the apartment together, and Charles breathed a loud sigh as he pushed the door shut.

“Nice place. Have you got any food?”

Charles pointed to the kitchen.

“Is food all you think about?”

“No, I think about you as well.”

Charles blushed, following Max to look in the fridge. There was barely anything in there, just a few expired ready meals and some juice.

“I haven’t been shopping.”

“Eh, I’m not that hungry anyway. I ate while you were sleeping.”

“Why did you ask for food then?”

A look of deep thought slowly spread across Max’s face as he contemplated this.

“Force of habit, I guess.”

Charles moved to sit on his sofa, and Max joined him, landing on the sofa with a surprising amount of force and kicking off his trainers, the socks following soon after.

“You got plans tonight?”

The Monégasque looked over at Max, who was leaning back into the cushions, arms comfortably behind his head like he owned the place. Charles crawled across the sofa and straddled his hips.

“I do now.”

Max smirked, pulling him in for a frenzied kiss, all grace being thrown out the window as Charles removed the Dutchman’s shirt before pushing him onto his back and fumbling to pull down his jeans, undoing the belt and hooking his thumb through his boxers, getting as far as the knees before Max stepped in and shuffled to push them off his legs and onto the ground.

Max was almost hard, and Charles was close too, the jeans rubbing against his growing erection as he moved down towards Max’s exposed cock. He looked back up at Max, who was leaning back against the arm of the sofa, lust burning in his cheeks.

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Don’t worry, just do what you’d want me to do to you.”

His voice was reassuring, and Charles ran his tongue up the shaft before taking the tip into his mouth, eliciting a groan from above. He moved down slowly, working out how far down he could go before coming back up and finding a rhythm. He felt a hand thread through his hair, and gagged a little as Max’s cock hit the back of his throat, but he kept going until Max pulled him off and brought him back up to his mouth, the kiss fast and messy, Charles fighting to tear off his own jeans.

Once his boxers were down with Max’s, the Dutchman moved Charles underneath him, swapping their positions. He planted hot kisses down his jawline and neck and Charles bucked his hips, searching for any kind of contact.

“Max,” he gasped, “fuck me.”

Max brought his head up from Charles’ neck.

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Are you sure? It’s going to hur-”

“I know what I want. Please.”

His voice was weak and breathy as he spoke, staring Max down with a look of genuine desperation.

“Okay, come on.”

He grabbed Charles’ hand and pulled him up, and the Monégasque lead him to the bedroom. The bed was beside the door with a window directly opposite, looking out onto the empty sea. He climbed onto the bed and scrambled to push the duvet to one side as Max crawled on top of him, the two men laughing as they came together in a sloppy kiss before Max pulled Charles’ jumper off, throwing it to one side.

“Okay, turn over.”

Charles obeyed and lifted his ass in the air. He heard Max spit into his hand and turned his head on the pillow, mentally preparing himself.

“This is going to hurt a bit.”

He wasn’t wrong. Max’s finger entered him, followed quickly by the second and he cried out, biting down hard on the pillow. He pushed upwards, trying to get used to the pain, and moaned loudly. He prayed his walls were soundproof, or he’d be getting some very dirty looks from his neighbours tomorrow.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, rubbing his head on the pillow.

“Mhmm, yeah.”

A third finger slipped in, and he let out a string of muffled French expletives through the pillow. He was shaking with pure desire and anticipation as Max carefully moved in and out. Finally, he removed his fingers from Charles’ ass and the Monégasque slumped down. Max gently turned him around onto his back.

“Ready?”

He nodded, and Max spit into his hand again, lathering his cock as much as he could and positioning himself before slowly pressing into Charles.

Charles’ voice cracked a little as he cried out again, a strangled sob rising from his throat and dying in the thick air.

“Shit, are you sure you’re alright?”

“ _Oui,_ fuck, yes, keep going.”

He moved back and thrusted in again, and Charles grabbed his shoulders, digging his nails into his back and screwing his eyes shut, losing himself as the pain slowly turned into pleasure. He let his head fall back and he was aware of Max leaning forwards, dropping kisses on his neck, jaw, shoulders, anywhere he could reach. His breathing was heavy, grunting with every new thrust, and he reached down, grasping Charles’ cock with one hand and keeping himself up with the other.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Charles moaned incomprehensibly as Max started to move his hand up and down, continuing to slam into him. They were both drenched in sweat, and Charles’ heart was threatening to break his ribcage. Max’s breathing was erratic, and Charles knew he was close; they both were.

“Charles, fuck, _kijk me aan,_ look at me, _please_.”

He opened his eyes, and the sight of Max shaking violently as he desperately tried to stay upright above him was enough to send him over the edge. He let out a low, guttural scream as he came, throwing his head back and gripping Max’s shoulders so hard he bled a little.

“Ow, fuck!”

“Sorry.”

Max pulled out, groaning as he climaxed, splashing Charles’ stomach with cum. He rolled off to one side and grabbed the tissues off the bedside table, cleaning them both off.

“Did you get any on my bed?”

“A little. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, let me see your back.”

Max leant forwards and Charles ran his fingertips over the tiny crescent shaped cuts. The bleeding had already stopped, and he grabbed a fresh tissue, wiping the residue from around them.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, it was kinda hot.”

Charles laughed, dragging Max down into a passionate kiss. Max moved so that Charles’ head was on his chest and they both lay there in relative comfort.

“So, how do you feel?”

Charles shuffled a little, moving his head up slightly.

“I feel…like I won’t sit down for a week.”

Max laughed, stroking Charles’ hair softly.

“Yeah, I felt like that too. Although I had to get on a fifteen hour flight the next day, so go figure.”

Charles moved up more until their faces were level.

“Who was it?”

Max looked away, blushing.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s okay. It was the day I won in Malaysia, in 2017. Me and Ricciardo went back to his room for one last beer, and the rest is history. I had been with guys before that, but I had always been on top, so it was…interesting.”

Max laughed it off but Charles could feel his heartbeat speeding up.

“It was Carlos, before you ask. My first, I mean. My dad found out, and Toro Rosso told us we had to break it off.”

“Oh.”

Charles brought his hand up to Max’s face, running his thumb over his jaw and leaning into his neck.

“I’ve only been with you. And Giada, but that’s it.”

“Really? Shit. Hope I’m making a good impression.”

He chuckled, holding Charles slightly closer. He opened his mouth to speak before snapping it shut again, leaning into Charles’ hair and whispering so quietly that even he could barely hear;

“ _Ik hou van jou, Charles_.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, nothing.”

The sun was slowly setting, casting a dim light over the room. Charles’ breathing steadied as they lay together, refusing to fall asleep, just to preserve the moment. Falling asleep would mean accepting reality, and neither of them wanted to do that; they wanted to stay in each other’s arms, breathing in sync, watching the sun sink below the horizon as they talked about everything and nothing.

The morning would come again, and the situation felt similar to the hotel in Bahrain, but this time they knew that they would both be here in the morning, no flight to catch, no teammates to greet, no bosses to trick; they were safe in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW that's the longest chapter so far, and one of my favourites to write (and not just because of the filth)  
> thank you all for sticking with it! :D


	11. nice try

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just pretend charles and pierre are talking french to each other shhhhh

Charles forced his eyes open as the harsh beeping of his alarm dragged him back to earth, tearing him from the blissful arms of slumber and drilling at his brain like a jackhammer. He moved Max’s arms from his waist and went to hit the snooze, but a sudden sharp pain in his ass stopped him in his tracks.

“AH! _Merde, ça fait mal!_ ”

Max leant over him and turned the alarm off before coming back down, gently kissing Charles’ neck.

“Morning.”

Charles slowly moved himself so that he was facing Max, trying to ignore the burning in his lower half, and planted a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Morning.”

Charles still felt slightly lost in the afterglow of the night before, the memory flushing his cheeks and bringing a small smile to his face. Max smiled back, and they lay together as the dim morning sun painted the room shades of orange and yellow and gold. Max shuffled, and Charles could see a melancholy glint behind his blue eyes.

“I don’t want to go home.”

Charles stroked his shoulder and leant forwards until their foreheads were touching.

“Then don’t.”

“I have to, Christian will kill me if I bunk off training two days in a row.”

Charles felt a small twinge of panic set in as reality started to set in.

“Oh god, how am I going to train today?”

“Just pretend. If Mattia asks, say your back hurts and you’re resting it. Worked for me.”

“Can’t you do that as well?”

Max let out a small, breathless laugh.

“Yeah, it doesn’t work on Christian anymore. He knows I stay in the day after long flights, so he checks up on me the next day. If I said I hurt myself again he’d probably fly out here himself and slap me for lying.”

He kissed Charles’ forehead and the Monégasque sighed softly.

“When are you leaving?”

Max looked at the clock. 8:03.

“I should probably go now, actually. I have to walk back.”

He slowly sat up, his back a little sore from sleeping awkwardly. Charles grabbed his arm and tried to drag him back down, but to no avail.

“Shit, I left my clothes in your living room.”

He swung off the bed and walked out to retrieve his clothes, and Charles reluctantly (and painfully) rolled off as well. He shuffled to the wardrobe and pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and his old Haas shirt. He didn’t even attempt to put his jeans on; he was going to shower anyway, so there was no point in extending his agony.

He walked over to the door and leant against the frame, watching as Max pulled his shirt on before looking between the two bundled up pairs of jeans. The light from the window shined on his back, and Charles couldn’t help but smile.

“Check the pockets.”

He looked up at Charles, previously unaware that he was being watched, and smiled. He pulled a pair of black boxers out from one pair and held them up.

“No need. I’d know my own boxers anywhere.”

He continued getting dressed as Charles moved to the sofa, wincing as he sat down.

“Ah…”

His stomach rumbled and he looked towards the empty fridge. It seemed to glare back, mocking him. He knew he’d have to get food at some point, but he really didn’t feel like it. Max was done getting dressed and was now sitting and laughing at something on his phone. Charles waved his hand in front of his face to get his attention.

“Hey, can you get my phone? It’s in my jeans pocket.”

Max reached in and handed it up. There were a few messages, mostly from mutual friends of Giada’s asking what happened between them. One of her friends had really let one off in a massive paragraph, berating him for cheating, saying she had never trusted him anyway, and ending with a bunch of very nasty Italian words. He decided to ignore that one; the rest he would respond to later. Much later.

Max put his phone away and sighed, pushed himself up onto the sofa, and leant on Charles’ shoulder.

“Think I’ll spend the whole day on the simulator. Christian will yell at me no matter what I do, he’s still pissed at me for fucking up that last corner. He almost ripped my head off, so I almost got murdered for you.”

Charles chuckled softly and nuzzled into Max’s neck.

“I’m going to call Pierre and get him to bring me food. I’m not driving today, not with this pain.”

Suddenly, Max started laughing at something.

“What?”

“Sorry I’m such a pain in your ass!”

Charles was unable to stop himself from bursting out laughing, if only at how bad the pun was. He shoved Max off his shoulder but he was ready, pulling Charles down with him and quickly spinning him onto his back, bringing their faces almost together.

“Nice try, Charlie.”

Charles blushed and tried his best to look irritated. He’d never admit it, but he was getting used to the nickname. Any irritation he still felt washed away when he felt Max kissing his jawline, slowly trailing up to the corner of his mouth. He let Max catch his lips as he moved his hands down the Dutchman’s back, tracing his spine through the thin t-shirt, committing every part of his body to memory as though he was never going to see him again.

They separated, and as he looked into Max’s eyes, only one word came to mind.

“Beautiful.”

Max’s cheeks flushed a deep pink as he stood up and went to put his shoes on. Charles pushed himself off the sofa; standing was still a little painful, but the stinging was calming to a dull ache, and he walked over to retrieve his keys. He was struck with a sudden sense of longing, and as soon as Max stood up to leave he pulled him into a tight hug. Max hugged back, lacing his fingers through the Monégasque’s hair as he buried his face in his neck. Charles hugged tighter, clinging to Max as though he was the only thing holding him up, and if he let go he would fall from a tall cliff onto the jagged rocks below.

“I’m not going forever.”

“I know, I just…” He pulled away and looked down at his feet. “This is a lot to deal with at once.”

“I know.”

Max placed a gentle kiss on Charles’ forehead, and he felt his worries dissolve into fog as they embraced. As soon as they separated, Max’s phone started to buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and frowned.

“Shit, Christian’s facetiming me. I knew he’d do that. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“See you then.”

He opened the door and Max let himself out, the phone still buzzing. Charles watched as he stepped into the lift, answering the call just as the doors closed. He moved to the window above the sink and watched Max walk out, descending down the street with his phone dangling in front of his face, scrambling to answer all the questions Christian would be asking him. Once he turned the corner, Charles jumped straight into the bathroom and pulled off his clothes.

The shower was a perfect place to think, even if he didn’t particularly want to. As the water beat down on his aching back, his mind wandered to their karting days. They had known each other since they were teenagers, but they had never particularly talked much; only the normal amount of forced friendly conversation before they then attempted to murder each other on the track. Had he been waiting in the wings this whole time? He’d never noticed him, but maybe that was what he wanted. The whole situation was crazy.

He shook his soaking hair and turned the shower off. After drying himself as best as he could and dressing again, he grabbed his phone and dialled Pierre’s number. Soon enough, Pierre’s gravelly ‘it’s too early for this shit’ voice came down the line.

_“Ughhh, morning.”_

“Morning, did I wake you?”

_“No, it’s fine. I was getting up anyway. What’s up?”_

“Are you busy today?”

_“No…why?”_

His voice was suspicious and Charles felt a little guilty.

“Will you come over and bring me some food? I…hurt my back, and I have literally nothing in the house.”

_“*sigh* Fine, I’ll be round in a bit. I don’t believe you at all, but I’ll help you out because I’m nice.”_

“You’re the best.”

_“I know. See you later.”_

“Bye.”

He hung up and headed for his bedroom, picking out the loosest pair of pyjama bottoms he owned and pulling them on. The fabric lightly brushed his legs, and he realised he hadn’t worn anything but jeans and race suits for a very long time. He wandered aimlessly back into his living room, falling face first onto the sofa, underestimating how much it would hurt. He rubbed his lower back and turned the TV on, flicking through the channels until he finally landed on the race replay. It was only on lap 24, and he watched the cars flying round the corners, shooting down the straights; the team radio was always fun to hear, just in case they said anything about him. He focused on his own drive, where he could improve, what he needed to stick with, where he went off the line, all that stuff.

And then the final lap came, and he looked on almost helplessly as Max sped towards him down the final straight, bottling the corner and allowing him clear passage towards the finish line. He paused and rewound, watching again as he jolted towards the wall, falling out of Charles’ slipstream. It was so obvious, and he had no idea how they thought it was just a lazy mistake. He rewound again, still in disbelief that he would sacrifice second place, get in all that trouble, just for him.

A banging noise at the door jostled him from his introspective haze and he quickly turned the TV off.

“Door’s open.”

A muffled voice spoke through the door.

“I’ve got no hands.”

Charles shuffled up the sofa and leant over the arm, reaching out and opening the door. Pierre waltzed in, clutching three bags of groceries to his chest.

“I didn’t know how much you needed, so I got enough to last until at least Friday.”

He dumped the bags on the island and immediately set about making breakfast for the two of them.

“So, you hurt your back? How’d you manage to do that?”

Charles blushed, trying to fathom a response as Pierre started spreading jam onto a freshly cut roll.

“I fell.”

The Frenchman scoffed, not even bothering to look up from the roll.

“You fell? From what, a plane? I already told you I don’t believe you, I was expecting a better excuse than that.”

Charles huffed and crossed his arms.

“I won’t tell you if you’re going to be a bitch about it.”

Pierre spun around, still holding the jam covered knife. Upon seeing Charles’ mildly concerned expression, he chucked the knife in the sink behind him and leant back on the counter.

“I _promise_ that I won’t be a bitch about whatever this is.”

“Okay, so before I tell you, there’s something you have to know about me.”

He looked down, his vision blurring slightly as he hugged his arms closer to his chest. His throat suddenly felt dry, and he swallowed, pushing away any doubts in his mind.

“I’m, uh…I’m bisexual.”

He coughed and continued looking at the floor, feeling the sofa dip beside him as Pierre sat and handed him a roll. Charles took it and looked up at him pleadingly.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Pierre rested a comforting hand on his shoulder before taking a bite of his own roll.

“I won’t. Who else knows?”

Charles hesitated.

“A couple of people.”

Pierre made a noise of acknowledgement before reaching over and turning on the TV, quickly turning the volume down almost to zero.

“Were you watching the race back?”

“Yeah. Just that last corner.”

Pierre laughed, dropping crumbs out of his mouth.

“Oh, you have no idea how much trouble Max got in for that! Christian was close to running him over, I swear…”

Charles laughed nervously, sweating a little as he bit into the roll.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“So, what was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

Pierre pushed his shoulder in mock frustration.

“Come on, you have to tell me now. You’ve built it up so much!”

“Okay, okay…yesterday I broke up with Giada and-”

“Wait, seriously? Why?”

“Because I cheated on her.”

“Dude!”

The look on Pierre’s face was one of disappointment, and Charles felt the hot sting of regret again.

“I know, I wasn’t thinking when I did it. It was in Bahrain, remember that incident in the pit?”

Pierre thought back, his expression blank before clarity snapped into his eyes.

“Oh! When you shoved Max? Sorry I didn’t say anything then, I didn’t know what to do. You cheated on her because of that?”

“No, it was a combination of things. I don’t know! But I told her the truth when I broke it off, so it could have been worse.”

He leant back and groaned, dropping breadcrumbs all down his shirt. He knew he hadn’t told her the whole truth, and he wouldn’t tell Pierre the whole truth either. He was spinning a web of lies.

“So you cheated on her in Bahrain? With who, a fan?”

Charles shook his head and closed his eyes.

“Not exactly…I can’t tell you.”

Pierre slumped back and poked the Monégasque’s cheek.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to start guessing, and you’re a terrible liar.”

Charles pushed his palms into his eye sockets and slid down until he was almost on his back.

“ _Please_ don’t. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

It was at that moment that he realised he and Max had never really talked about it. It was more of an unspoken agreement based on the accepted fact that if it got out, it would certainly make their lives more difficult, and although he trusted Pierre, he couldn’t betray Max like that; the unspoken promise is the hardest to break.

“Fine,” sighed Pierre almost sulkily, pushing himself back up. “but I still don’t see why any of this means you can’t get your own damn groceries?”

Charles shuffled back upright to join him, wincing at the pain as he readjusted.

“I hurt my ass during sex, okay?”

Pierre choked on his roll, bursting out laughing as Charles smacked his arm indignantly.

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s pretty funny. You took it up the ass and now you can’t drive! You better hope whoever your boyfriend is can keep it in his pants before a race.”

Charles blushed.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

He still didn’t know what they were. They weren’t dating, or at least he didn’t think they were. They just had…a thing, a nameless thing, and that worked.

“Well, whatever he is…oh, come on, it’s funny! I didn’t think you had it in you, to be honest.”

“Hey! Forget it, what do you want to do now?”

The two of them sat in silence for a second as they racked their brains for ways to pass the time without Charles having to move too much. Finally, Pierre snapped his fingers.

“FIFA?”

“Sure.”

The Frenchman made his way to the console and started going through Charles’ game collection, eventually pulling out his copy of FIFA. He slid the disc into the console, grabbed a couple of controllers, and jumped back on the sofa. Charles took one and turned it on, barely paying attention to the screen as Pierre fiddled with the remote, trying to switch the input without breaking the TV.

“Thank you.”

Pierre turned, slightly confused.

“What for?”

Charles shrugged.

“Just being here, I guess.”

“It’s okay, dude. I’ll always be here, trying to guess who your not-boyfriend is.”

They both laughed, and Charles felt an overwhelming sense of calm. He felt relief that he had been able to say it out loud; he was bisexual, and there was nothing wrong with that. Even if he never said it again, it didn’t matter. It was out there now, floating in the air, and nobody could take that from him. In that moment, he felt something lift a little inside him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> supporting your disaster bi friend while eating jam rolls is honestly goals  
> also, BOO @ another mercedes 1-2 at the weekend. :( when will ferrari be good again? nobody knows...max had a BRILLIANT race though! so proud of him, plus can't wait for zandvoort next year!!!!!  
> (also also, i am aware that pierre gasly lives in rouen. do i care? absolutely not)


	12. do you trust him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i get drunk and watch eurovision last night instead of writing this chapter? you bet i did babey!!

The suitcase seemed to get smaller every time Charles packed it. He neatly folded his clothes as small as they would possibly go, tucking them firmly to the edges, yet they never all seemed to fit. He sighed and reluctantly began refolding the shirts, this time trying to lay them flat instead of piling them up in rolls.

It had been five days since he had seen Max (not that he’d been counting). They hadn’t been able to meet at all since Max had headed back to his own apartment; previous engagements and training commitments had ruined any plans they tried to make. They had talked every day on the phone, but the lack of physical contact was almost unbearable. They lived less than ten minutes away from each other, but they may as well have been in separate countries. Every night had felt empty without Max’s shape pressed against him as they slept, gently stroking his hair, holding him through the night.

He closed the suitcase and fell down on top of it, using all of his weight to keep the bulging case from bursting open again as he zipped it shut. Suddenly, he heard his phone buzz from across the room. He jumped onto his bed and pulled his phone off the stand, feeling a pang of disappointment when he realised it was only Sebastian.

“Morning.”

_“Morning. Have you packed everything?”_

“Yes.”

_“Brushed your teeth?”_

“Yes.”

_“Eaten breakfast?”_

“Yes!”

Vettel insisted on interrogating him like this before every flight, making sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything. Charles pretended to hate it, but he secretly thought it was nice that he took time out of his own routine to make sure he was okay. Besides, sometimes he actually did forget to eat breakfast.

_“Okay, good. How long until you leave?”_

Charles looked at the clock, It was just gone 5AM, which meant he only had half an hour before he had to be at the coach stop.

“Not long, but I have everything ready. Stop worrying about me!”

_“Fine, fine. See you in China then.”_

“Yeah, see you in China.”

Charles hung up and dragged his suitcase out into the living room. He picked up his rucksack from beside the sofa and stepped out into the hall, locking his apartment behind him. He was almost at his car when his phone went off in his pocket again, and almost as soon as he answered he was greeted with Pierre shouting over his car radio, which was blasting insanely loud and unintelligible Dutch music.

_“Charles! Do you want a lift to the bus stop? Sorry, hold on a sec-MAX! Turn the fucking stereo down, I swear-okay, thank you, so Charles, do you want a lift or-”_

“Yes!” He blurted out far too quickly. “Yes, I’m outside my house. How far are you?”

_“Not far, see you in a minute.”_

The line went dead and Charles sat down on his suitcase. Barely thirty seconds after their call ended, Pierre’s convertible sped round the corner, coming to a stop in front of Charles. Seeing Max in the passenger seat threw his heart into his throat, and a smile spread across his face, along with a warm blush. He looked gorgeous in his navy Red Bull hoodie, leaning back in his car seat and shading his eyes from the sun. Charles was surprised he didn’t have a baseball cap on.

“Come on, Charlie, get in!”

He dumped his bags in the trunk, climbing into the back seat as Pierre slapped Max’s hand away from the volume control. In protest, Max undid his seatbelt and clambered over the back of his chair, falling awkwardly into the back with Charles.

“I bet Charles would let me listen to music in his car.”

“We’re not in Charles’ car, we’re in my car!”

Max huffed as he adjusted himself, looking up at Charles and grinning.

“I’m not getting involved in this argument.”

Pierre hit the throttle and Charles glanced back at Max, who hadn’t replaced his seatbelt. He shuffled up and reached round the Dutchman’s neck, grabbing the metal tab and pulling it down. Max gently put his hand over Charles’, guiding him to click the belt into place; they were close enough to feel each other’s breath, and Max glanced at Charles’ lips. The urge for Charles to lean forwards and kiss him was almost overwhelming, and he pulled away, but left his hand sitting under Max’s on the seat. Pierre looked questioningly at Charles in the mirror and he quickly reclaimed his hand.

“No, don’t let me stop you. You’re clearly having a moment.”

“Shut up!”

“Hey, can we stick to a universal language please?” Max said indignantly, and Pierre laughed.

“Your French is fine, I taught you, remember? Actually, all you could remember was _voulez-vous coucher avec moi…_ ”

Charles’ face turned red as he laughed and looked over at Max, who was almost doubled over. He threw himself back in his seat and tilted his head towards Charles. The early morning light turned his eyes into diamonds, reflecting and refracting the drops of sun as they gently broke through the clouds over the horizon. Charles stared into the blue pools and sighed, a million words rushing up from his soul, burning his throat and dying on the tip of his tongue.

The car rolled to a stop and the trio unpacked the trunk and speed-walked over to the coach, chucking their bags unceremoniously into the hold. They climbed aboard and the door shut behind them, but before they had a chance to sit down, the bus set off with a lurch. The three of them were flung forwards down the aisle; Pierre and Max managed to grab the back of a seat but Charles wasn’t so lucky, and he fell flat on his face.

“Ah, fuck!”

He was vaguely aware of a chorus of concerned groans filling the bus and he sat up, his vision going slightly fuzzy as blood dripped down his nose and disappeared on the red of his t-shirt. He pinched his nose to stop the flow and suddenly Max was in front of him, pulling off his hoodie and passing it over.

“You okay?”

Charles nodded and grasped at the fabric, wiping the blood from his face. Max looped his arm under Charles’ shoulders and pulled him up, and they found a couple of seats near the back, away from the rest of the drivers. Charles leant against the window and sighed, still holding his nose shut.

“Hey, let me have a look.”

Max lifted Charles’ fingers away and gently squeezed the bridge of his nose. The blood had stopped flowing pretty quickly, and all that remained was a red tinge around his nostrils.

“It’s not broken, you probably just knocked something. Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

Max glanced furtively through the gap in the seats, making sure nobody was watching before placing a soft kiss on the side of Charles’ mouth. Charles let out a low humming noise and leant on Max’s shoulder. In response, the Dutchman wrapped his arm around Charles’ back, coming to rest on his own shoulder. He leant down until he was certain that only Charles could hear and hugged him closer to his body, letting his head sit on the Monégasque’s, still nervously eyeing the seat gap. He moved his hand into Charles’ hair, tenderly stroking the sides of his head.

“I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.”

Suddenly, the bus sped over a speedbump, knocking the two out of their trance and back to reality. The jolt caused them to separate, leaving the warmth of Max’s hand still tingling on Charles’ head; he wanted to fall back into Max’s arms but he knew it was too risky. They were already playing with fire.

The rest of the journey passed by like a blur as the two talked about meaningless stuff, checking their phones, wasting the minutes until the bus finally pulled in at the airport. They descended from the bus and headed through check-in, re-joining the rest of the drivers on the other side. They had huddled under the flight timetable and were looking up at the blinking lights. Boarding time was an hour away, and the small crowd dispersed, leaving Charles, Max, and Pierre standing aimlessly in the middle of the empty airport.

“I’m hungry.”

Max made a beeline for the nearest café, the other two men tagging helplessly behind, and as he went straight to the counter, Pierre and Charles took a table at the back and waited patiently for him to return. Pierre nonchalantly started playing with his fork.

“So, you and Max, huh?”

Charles looked up at the ceiling, trying to force his blush to subside.

“It’s not like that.”

“Come on, I’m not a dumbass. I saw you two in the back of the car, and on the bus.”

Charles turned to look at Pierre, his cheeks still tinted pink.

“Look, I realised something was different about him the other day. All through training he was acting…genuinely happy. Not that fake happy act he sometimes puts on for the cameras, real happiness. After what you told me, I just kind of joined the dots. All the car ride did was tell me I’m right, as usual. Talking of the car ride, I wasn’t going to bring him at first, but as soon as I told him I was going to ask you for a ride, he showed up at my door in a flash. You know he only lives a five minute walk from the bus stop? Any excuse to see you, I guess.”

Charles opened his mouth to speak but realised there was no point in arguing with Pierre. They’d known each other too long, and he knew he couldn’t bullshit him.

“Okay, fine. You’re right. But don’t say anything.”

“Yeah, I won’t.”

“Are you guys talking French again?”

Max sat down, dumping a tray of various baked goods on the table.

“You guys can have some as well if you want.”

Pierre reached out and grabbed a croissant.

“How kind, your majesty.”

The three sat together for a while, Max and Pierre joking about something or other, but Charles was almost too afraid to say anything. He trusted Pierre, that wasn’t the problem; he was terrified of Max’s reaction. Would he be angry? Upset? Would he break it off? By the time they left to go to the boarding area, the panic in his chest had reached breaking point. As the trio headed towards the final check-in, Charles tugged Max’s sleeve and muttered in a low voice.

“I need to talk to you.”

A flash of concern came over Max’s face, and the Monégasque pulled him aside. They stood behind a pillar, the tall stone cylinder offering little privacy, although there were very few people around. Charles was almost shaking now, and he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself.

“What’s wrong? Was it something I-”

“Pierre knows, he knows about us, I didn’t tell him but he figured it out, please don’t be angry, I’m sorry!”

He blurted out the words so quickly they almost merged into each other, and he stared down at his feet, avoiding Max’s eyes. The Dutchman was silent for a moment as he processed what Charles had told him, and he took a quick look around before gently lifting Charles’ chin.

“Do you trust him?”

Charles nodded.

“Then so do I.”

He sighed softly and lightly brushed Charles’ cheeks with his hand, smoothing his thumb over his jawline.

“How could I ever be angry at you?”

Charles chuckled quietly and took Max’s hand from his face, running his fingers over his knuckles, bringing it down to their sides. The sudden sound of steps startled the two men and they jumped away as a woman ran past, her heels clacking on the tiles as she rushed to the boarding desk.

“We should go.”

They made their own way over to the desk and boarded the plane, settling into their seats. They weren’t as lucky with the seating this time; Max was just in front of Charles, next to Lewis, while Charles at least had Pierre. As the plane moved out onto the runway for take-off, Charles felt something poking at his knee. Max’s hand was reaching behind his seat, feeling around for something to hold onto. Charles grasped it and laced their fingers. He heard an exaggerated retching noise from Pierre, and he smirked and leant against the window, watching the plane ascend into the early morning sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why this chapter was so difficult to write honestly. also that thing with charles sort of happened to me when i was like 4 except it was on a plane and it was my chin so...not really like that at all. any excuse for an anecdote in the notes though.


	13. wanna bet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to apologise not only to god but jesus

The flight was long and boring, and Charles slept through most of it. By the time they arrived in China, everyone was itching to get to the hotel. They went through customs before splitting off to meet the rest of their teams, and as Charles headed over to where Vettel and the others were waiting, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He checked, and it was a message from Max.

 

>meet in my hotel room later i’ll text you the number

>they haven’t told me it yet. i might be sleeping in the pit lane

 

He looked over to Max, who was walking out with Pierre. They were too far away to hear, but Charles could see they were bickering about something. Max didn’t seem to be winning.

 

aw i can see u and pierre fighting<

u guys cant fight or i’ll b sad<

 

Max looked over at him and laughed. He started typing but before he could finish, he was dragged off to the team bus by Pierre. He turned back and waved as he was hauled out the door, and Charles made his way to his own team. He waved to Vettel, but he was so absorbed in his own phone screen that he didn’t notice. Charles lightly kicked his foot and he jumped, shoving the phone in his pocket.

“Hey!” He coughed and shuffled awkwardly in place before composing himself. “Hey. How was your flight?”

Charles looked at him suspiciously.

“Fine…yours?”

“Yeah, fine. Didn’t sleep much.”

He seemed distracted, like he was thinking about something else entirely. Charles decided to leave him to himself as they boarded the bus. His own phone had been buzzing like mad as they had gone through the airport, and once he was sat down he was finally able to see the mess that had come through from Max’s phone.

 

>pierre keeps trying to steal my phone

>why are you friends with him

>ferrari sucks

>sorry that was pierre

>i agree though

>you should come to red bull lol.

>shit pierre is mad because i want to replace him with you

>he won’t talk to me now

>tell him to talk to me

 

aw you shouldn’t b mean 2 him he’s fragile<

like red bull cars :)<

 

>watch it or i won’t let you in my room

 

:( <

 

>ha i couldn’t keep you out if i tried

>room 2861

>gtg, christian is gonna yell at me for being on my phone while he’s talking to me

>*is yelling at me

>see you later

 

haha<

cu l8r<

 

He put his phone down and turned to Vettel, who had turned his phone face down on his lap and was staring pensively out the window. Charles nudged him and he jumped slightly, zoning back into reality.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. How’s Max?”

Charles blushed and resisted the urge to look away.

“He’s fine. I didn’t see him much last week, we had other things.”

Seb smiled weakly and looked back out of the window.

“At least you live in the same country.”

Charles narrowed his eyes.

“What are you-”

“Oh look, we’re here.”

He hastily grabbed his bag and climbed over Charles, who was still a little nervous about walking on moving vehicles. The bus rolled to a stop and Charles shuffled down the aisle, following Vettel out of the coach and into the hotel. They collected their key cards at the desk, but Charles was more interested in figuring out where room 2861 was. They weren’t on the same floor this time, but they weren’t too far away from each other; only a couple of floors. He hurried into the lift, dragging his bulging suitcase alongside him.

The lift ride was only around ten seconds, but it couldn’t have gone slower. He practically ran to his room, dumping his bags inside before dashing straight back to the lift. He arrived at Max’s room, took a quick glance to either side of the corridor to make sure he was alone, and banged on the door.

Max pulled it open and Charles almost jumped on him, their lips clashing violently as he pushed Max back into the room, slamming the door shut and shoving the Dutchman up against it. Max moaned into Charles’ mouth and ran his fingers through his hair, his other hand grabbing blindly at the Monégasque’s shirt. He paused to pull it off and once he had discarded it, he turned to walk to the bed but Max took his chance and spun him around, pressing him against the wall and pinning his arms above his head. He clicked his tongue behind his teeth as he held Charles in place.

“So eager to get me in bed, Charles!”

Charles let out a low chuckle and dropped his head against the wall with a muted thud.

“We’re playing this game?”

He gasped softly as Max groped his growing bulge through his jeans, already feeling precum leaking into his boxers. He pushed his hips forwards into Max’s palm, shaking with every breath as his cock strained against the tightness of his jeans.

“You love it.”

Charles tried desperately to retain his composure, refusing to melt under Max’s touch. He bit his lip to keep himself grounded, staring back into Max’s eyes with as much confidence as he could muster, almost giving in there and then.

“Wanna bet?”

His voice was breathy and Max smirked, leaning forwards until Charles could feel his Red Bull polo shirt brushing against his bare chest.

“I don’t need to. I can see it in your eyes. But I will bet…” Charles’ breath hitched in his throat as Max tightened his grasp on his cock. “…that in less than ten minutes I’ll have you on that bed screaming my name.”

Max’s teasing was turning him on way more than he’d admit, and he whined as he let go of his bulge, leaving it twitching within the confines of the denim. The Dutchman freed his arms before moving his mouth down to Charles’ chest. He swirled his tongue on his nipple experimentally before biting down, eliciting a moan from above. He moved to the other side and repeated the action, and Charles couldn’t take it anymore. He moved his hand down to his belt buckle but Max grabbed his wrist, pushing it to the side as he trailed down his stomach.

He unzipped the jeans and pulled them to Charles’ ankles, along with his boxers. He licked up the shaft and placed a kiss on the swollen tip, looking up into Charles’ eyes as he took him into his mouth, and Charles’ hips snapped forwards involuntarily but Max took it like a pro, and Charles distantly wondered how many times he’d done this before. The sensation was overwhelming, and he screwed his eyes shut, desperately trying to savour the feeling of Max working him, making his knees weak and his heart slam against his chest.

Max pulled off far too quickly for Charles’ liking, and he felt his saliva cool on his cock. The Dutchman stood up and gestured to the bed. Charles stepped completely out of his jeans and stumbled over, almost drunk with anticipation as Max fumbled through his suitcase, pulling out a bottle of lube. He pulled off the his clothes and crawled up onto the bed, where Charles was pushing himself against the pillows. Max clicked open the bottle and spread the liquid over one hand, using the other to pin Charles’ hands on the headboard above him.

Charles parted his legs to allow Max’s hands space. He cried out a little as a slick finger entered him, slowly relaxing around it as Max pushed another in, curling around inside Charles, looking for that sweet spot. He brushed his prostate and Charles gasped, bucking his hips and clenching his fists. His breathing was ragged as Max fucked his fingers into him, kissing his neck, chest, hips, anywhere he could find. Charles bit his lip to stop himself from moaning his name; he hadn’t forgotten their bet. Max pushed a third finger in and he let out a broken cry and pushed his ass down onto Max’s hand, encouraging him to go deeper.

Finally, he pulled out, and Charles tried and failed to steady his breathing. His arms were still above his head and he was covered in tiny bites and kisses, his whole body shaking with arousal. His face was flushed a deep red and he was drenched in sweat. Max leant back on his heels, letting go of Charles’ wrists and taking in the sight. He had an incredible look on his face, burning half with lust, half with adoration.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

He grabbed the lube and rubbed the liquid over his cock before rubbing a little by Charles’ entrance, the stimulation almost too much for the Monégasque. He leant over, lining himself up to Charles’ ass and pressing the tip to his hole.

“Ready?”

Charles responded with a breathless whisper.

“ _Please_.”

Max slowly thrusted forwards and Charles moaned loudly as Max’s whole length pushed inside him. He bit his tongue, not knowing who was in the adjacent rooms. Max grunted as he found a rhythm, Charles trying his best to move with him, wrapping his legs around Max’s hips and digging his heels into the small of his back. It felt different this time, still painful but somehow easier; he kind of knew what was coming.

His breathing was getting weak as Max sped up, and he clung to his shoulders, careful not to dig his nails in too far this time. He bit his lip hard enough to break skin, feeling the metallic taste on the tip of his tongue as Max pushed him further and further towards the edge. Max brought his mouth to Charles’ neck, biting gently at the skin below his jaw, kissing up to his ear before whispering into it.

“Say it.”

Charles gasped as Max hit his prostate again, almost unable to speak.

“Max,” It was more of a whimper than a word, but he said it again, and again, repeating it like a litany, a prayer, the only thing he was able to say. He said it louder and louder and louder until he finally hit his peak and cried out, coming all over their stomachs. Max wasn’t able to last much longer, letting out a long groan and pulling out a little too late. Charles felt a few drops of come hit his entrance, too out of it to care. Max rolled over next to him and chuckled softly as they attempted to clean up.

“Told you I’d have you screaming.”

Charles smiled and kissed him. He stood up shakily and went to the bathroom, cleaning himself properly with a splash of water. As he pulled his boxers back on with a familiar twinge of pain, he noticed his phone on the floor. He had 6 unread messages from Pierre, and he looked nervously over at Max.

“Max, who’s in the room next to you?”

He looked around, realisation dawning on his face.

“Oh God, they put me and Pierre together. Did he hear us?”

Charles glanced at the screen, opening the messages.

 

>oh god is that you in max’s room

>you’re really fucking loud

>is he actually murdering you? should i call the police??

>i think i need a shower after hearing that

>scratch that i’m hitting the bar

>feel free to come down when you’re done fucking like rabbits

 

Charles dropped his phone on the table, jumping on the bed next to Max.

“Yeah, he heard.”

He fell onto Max’s shoulder and hugged his arm.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Charles nuzzled into Max’s neck, breathing in his scent, trying not to think of how much Pierre was going to tease him over this.

“Oh, Pierre said we can come down to the bar with him in a bit.”

Max laughed and stood up.

“I need a shower first.”

He walked over to the bathroom, stopping in the doorway and turning back to look at Charles.

“Join me?”

He didn’t have to ask him twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eyes vettel suspiciously like i don't know what he's up to even though i've written it in my story plan*  
> also, poor pierre


	14. imagine that

The hotel bar was empty, save for Pierre and a few borderline blackout businessmen huddled round a table at the back. It was dimly lit by blue LEDs, and the glistening Shanghai skyline twinkled below the windows. Pierre waved Max and Charles over to a booth by one of the windows and pushed a couple of beers over as they sat down. All it took was a short gasp of pain from Charles as he sat down to send Pierre into fits of laughter. His cheeks were pink and the light smell of alcohol drifted off of him, and Charles slumped down onto the table, burying his head in his folded arms.

“Holy shit, you two are loud! You need to calm down, you’ve got to drive soon. How are you going to race with a sore ass, hmm?” He turned to Max. “Or is this our new strategy, he can’t race if he can’t sit down, right?”

Charles’ foot made sharp contact with Pierre’s leg and the Frenchman frowned, taking a quick swig of his beer. His words were a little slurred, and he spoke slowly, trying his hardest not to fall into his native language.

“I’m only joking, you know that.”

Max grabbed his own beer and glared at Pierre.

“I thought you were out of your room. You said you were going to the pool to swim off the flight.”

“I changed my mind.”

Pierre absent-mindedly picked at the label on his bottle, digging his nails under the loose tag, pulling it free from the green glass.

“You know that’s a sign of sexual frustration, right?”

The Red Bull teammates turned to look at Charles, who had propped himself up lazily on one arm. Pierre blushed slightly.

“Oh, you take it up the ass once and you’re suddenly an expert on everyone else’s sex lives?”

His tone was sharper than he meant, and he looked down sadly. Charles pushed himself up a little more, glancing at the four empty bottles on the end of the table.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Pierre made a vague humming noise and downed the last of the beer. Max bit his tongue as Pierre dropped the screwed up label into the empty bottle and pushed it slowly away, watching as it clinked against the other empty and label-less bottles beside him.

“Do you think anyone else heard?”

Charles’ question was met with awkward silence, the unsaid answer hanging in the thick air above them. Max bit his thumb before folding his arms and leaning forwards.

“I don’t think so. I checked the room next door and it had the sign on it saying ‘please clean’, so I’m pretty sure they were out. Or maybe there’s nobody in there at all.”

Charles felt a chill course through him.

“You’re pretty sure?”

“99%. I mean, why would they put the sign up if they were in there, right?”

Pierre leant back into the leather seat and stretched his arms. He looked like he was about to fall asleep, although Charles didn’t know whether it was from the alcohol or jet lag.

“I’ll cover for you if anybody heard. I’m with Max on this one though, I don’t think anyone was in there.”

The three sat for a minute as Max and Charles finished their beers in silence. Once they’d downed the dregs, they headed off together, but Pierre stopped before they got to the lift. He waved a vague gesture of ‘go on without me’ and leant against the wall with a heavy thud.

“I have to go talk to Christian, I think. Charles, don’t wear Max out too much. Or do, then I can beat him for once!”

He laughed to himself as he stumbled down the hall towards where Charles assumed Christian was waiting, and Charles followed Max into the empty elevator, turning back to flash Pierre a worried smile before he swung round the corner. It was late, and he knew he should be getting back to his room, but Max’s hand softly brushing his own as the elevator doors shut made his heart flutter in his chest, and he wondered if he could really take another night alone.

Max’s hand trailed up his arm, reaching up to tuck a few stray hairs back behind Charles’ ears before running his knuckles over the light stubble that dotted the Monégasque’s jaw. Charles hummed at the contact but took Max’s hand from his face and placed it squarely back by his side.

“We have to be careful. You know that.”

Max’s cheeks turned pink as peaches, and he looked almost guilty.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. And sorry about earlier, I got…carried away.”

He looked down at the ground as the lift reached Charles’ floor, glancing up in surprise as Charles stayed put.

“Can I stay the night in your room?”

Max nodded, the look of surprise still evident on his face as the lift doors closed again. It was only a short ride up to Max’s floor, and they made their way to the room, checking the empty corridor before jumping into the room together. They undressed in silence and settled down to sleep, Charles setting his alarm early so he could sneak out undetected in the morning. He felt Max’s warmth press against his back and let out a sigh, reaching round to pull Max’s hand to his chest.

The silence was loud, but not awkward. He wanted to turn around and kiss Max’s face, jaw, everywhere, all over his body, but something stopped him. He was suddenly burningly aware of how much they _weren’t supposed to be doing this_ , and it was itching at his brain every second that passed. He felt the exhaustion of the flight sneaking up on him and, trying to push away the feelings of guilt that had suddenly started eating at his stomach, he slipped into sleep.

* * *

 

First and second practices were awful for both the Ferraris. Charles told himself that the first practices didn’t really matter, but there was still a bitter feeling in his stomach every time he thought about his busted engine and whether it would be ready for qualifying the next day. He walked past the rest of the team, smiling weakly as he headed back to his driver’s room. He pushed open the door and felt a warmth in his chest when he saw the soft glow of his phone sitting on his desk.

 

>are you okay

>saw your engine got fucked

>do you want me to come over?

 

more than anything<

but i think ppl would get suspicious<

i have to talk to seb anyway<

i’ll come 2 ur room l8r<

 

>okay

>is it bad that i kinda hope your car is too broken to drive so i can get inside you again?

 

Charles chuckled and settled on the sofa, shucking off his race suit, lying just in his fireproofs. It had been a few days since they’d landed in China and they’d been sneaking around all week, in and out of each other’s rooms in the dead of night, every touch feeling like it could be the last they ever shared.

 

kinda<

but i’d hope the same 4 u<

 

>cute

>bet we could still get some use out of a busted car though

 

how?<

 

>could bend you over it

>imagine that

 

A shiver went down Charles’ spine, and he glanced at the time. He had to meet Seb in 5 minutes, and he still had to get changed, but he could feel his cock hardening at the mere thought of Max fucking him against his car. The scratchy material of his fireproofs was getting unbearable against his skin and he tugged them off, grimacing at the wet spot on his boxers.

 

do u get off on getting me horny b4 i have 2 do shit<

 

>yes. stupid question

>how long will you be

>idk how much longer i can wait :(

 

i’ll txt u after i’ve talked 2 seb<

now i have 2 hide my boner -_-<

 

>aw i’ll sort that for you later

 

u better<

gtg<

 

He chucked his phone down on the sofa and pulled on some baggy trackie bottoms and an oversized hoodie in an attempt to hide his semi. He tucked his phone in his pocket and adjusted himself before heading out towards Seb’s room. He didn’t understand why they put them so far apart sometimes. There was nobody else around, all of them much further in the technical areas, fixing up the cars, completely ignoring the two drivers. He really had to get an answer to why Seb had been acting so strangely the past week. He was a little worried; he cared about Seb, and he hoped there was nothing wrong.

He was almost at Seb’s room now, and much to his relief he could feel his erection subsiding as he went to knock on the door. However, before he could knock there was a mild thud on the inside followed by two muffled voices and various groaning noises, and Charles suddenly had a lot more sympathy for Pierre.

_“Scheiße, genau da, Gott!”_

_“Shit Seb, you know I love it when you speak German-ah!”_

Charles backed up, feeling like he was encroaching on something slightly beyond him. He looked back down the corridor, suddenly worrying that somebody less understanding than him would walk past and hear, feeling somehow complicit, like he’d get in trouble if someone saw him. He sped round the corner, just out of earshot, and let his head fall back against the wall, waiting for what felt like an age until he finally heard the click of the door opening. He pulled out his phone and looked down, busying himself looking at Instagram, trying desperately to look oblivious.

A yellow and black shirt brushed past him, suddenly spinning round as soon as he became aware of the Monégasque leaning awkwardly against the wall. Charles stared up into the swirling brown eyes of Daniel Ricciardo, and Charles suddenly felt a lot smaller than he actually was.

“Charles! You-what are you doing here?”

His mouth went a little dry as he replied, unable to tear away from Dan’s flushed face.

“I was coming to see Seb. I have to ask him something. What are _you_ doing here?”

Dan’s face went an even deeper shade of red and he looked indignant.

“None of your business.”

He turned to walk away, but Charles gently tugged at his sleeve.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

He looked at Dan with what he hoped was a reassuring expression, but Dan just pulled his sleeve free and headed away, back towards his own motorhome. Charles turned to see Seb standing in the doorway to his room, arms crossed and expression unreadable. Neither man wanted to speak first, so Vettel walked back into his room, holding the door open for Charles to follow in.

They sat on the sofa together and Charles looked at his knees.

“Did you hear any of that?”

Charles nodded.

“A bit.” His head shot up and he looked at Seb with big, watery eyes. “I really won’t tell anyone!”

Seb chuckled softly.

“I guess we’re even now, right? I don’t tell anyone about Max, and you don’t tell anyone about Dan.”

Charles nodded again, mind flashing back to that night in Monaco when Max had told him about his past - about Dan. He dug his thumbnail into his finger and cleared his throat. He wanted to stay and talk more about it, but he could tell that Seb just wanted to be left alone, so he got up and headed back to his own room, shutting the door behind him. Once he was back in his own room, he checked his phone again.

 

come 2 my hotel room as soon as ur done here<

 

>demanding

>i like it

>see ya soon

 

He shoved his phone back in his pocket and sighed. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting from Seb but it wasn’t that. He tried to push it out of his mind as he headed out to talk to the rest of the team, determined to finish whatever they needed him to do as soon as he could. He really needed Max. He really, really, really needed Max, and by the time they got on the bus, he felt like he was going to go crazy. As the city dragged past, he cleared his thoughts of everything, everything except Max. He didn’t know why, but something was nagging at him, something in his brain was saying that something was going to go wrong. He silenced it and kept staring at the passing city, focusing on just how fucking lucky he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god monaco........monaco is my fave race but charles dropping out...max's time penalty.....at least seb split the mercedes, but i could literally feel my heart break when charles had to retire. :(


	15. accidents happen

Charles stared at the ceiling, zoning in and out of the swirls of off-white plaster above him. He couldn’t take his mind off of Dan’s blazing glare, or Seb’s blank expression, and he felt that feeling in the bottom of his stomach again. He tried to push it down but it thrived in the acid, screaming that something was going to go wrong, it would all come back to bite, nothing lasts forever, _nothing lasts forever_.

He swallowed at that last realisation. He’d found that out already.

A loud bang at the door knocked him out of his thoughts and he scrambled off the bed and flung open the door, letting Max inside and falling straight into a short but passionate kiss. The door shut behind them and Charles let out a shaky breath, pulling away and keeping his eyes closed, trying to push the distracting thoughts out of his mind. Max gently held his shoulders, keeping his distance.

“What’s up?”

Charles sighed through his teeth and looked into Max’s blue blazes, beautiful as ever in the dim evening light.

“Nothing.”

He smiled feebly in an attempt to reassure Max that he was telling the truth (he wasn’t) and hoped that he believed him (he didn’t).

“Are you sure? Because usually we’re on the bed completely naked by now.”

Charles blushed and leant forwards, dropping his head against Max’s shoulder and letting out a shuddery breath.

“Okay, you’re right. I had a weird day.”

Max gently moved them both back until they hit the bed, falling down with a soft creak. He brought his hand up to Charles’ face, cupping his cheek. He smiled softly, and Charles’ gut twisted. He should be feeling better at seeing that face, soft and warm and kind but he knows that if he tells him what happened it will shatter the mask.

“What happened?”

Charles sighed again and dug his head further into the mattress.

“Promise me you won’t lose your head?”

Max’s face fell slightly but he nodded.

“I promise.”

Charles could feel Max’s steady breaths on his nose, and the two of them being so close was settling him somewhat. He thought back to the combination of fear and anger in Dan’s eyes, and the cracks of sadness coming through Seb’s seemingly unbreakable façade, and the guilt burned up in his chest as he betrayed both of them in an instant.

“I walked in on Seb and Dan today. Well, I heard through the door, but-”

“Dan’s back with Seb?”

Max’s face was already marred with a mix of shock, anger, and confusion, and he sat up. Charles pushed himself onto his elbows and looked up at Max.

“Back with?”

Max laughed sarcastically and looked up at the ceiling.

“Oh man, he didn’t tell you? Those two were a thing back when they were at Red Bull.” He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillows. “Typical Dan.”

Charles reached out and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying to coax him back round, but he stayed put.

“Are you angry?”

Max grumbled and came round onto his back to look up at Charles. Charles could see the red tinge in his eyes, and he felt his heart tear a little.

“No, I’m just…” He rubbed his palms over his face and prodded at the corners of his eyes, dabbing away the tiny teardrops forming there before sighing. “Okay, yeah. I’m angry.”

“Why?”

Max gave him a sort of ‘you know why’ look, unwilling to say it out loud. Charles continued, stumbling a little and honestly just desperate for the conversation to end.

“You’ve moved on. I mean, we’re…whatever we are, so you can’t get angry at him for moving on too.”

Max scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Getting back with a different ex isn’t ‘moving on’, Charles. He’s just a rebound, that’s all.”

“What does that make me?”

Max’s eyes snapped up to meet Charles’. The Monégasque was looking down at him with a waveringly stern expression, trying to keep his cool as he shook slightly, cursing himself for being unable to hide his emotions.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?”

“Don’t.”

Charles flinched a little and Max rolled over again, refusing to meet his eyes. Charles huffed and jumped off the bed, not in the mood to deal with Max being petty. He heard a shuffling on the bed as he reached the door and his hand stopped on the handle as Max finally responded.

“Wait, I’m sorry. Don’t go.”

Charles sighed and looked over his shoulder, just enough to see Max sitting up on his elbows.

“I’m not going. You are.”

He held the door open and Max blinked in confusion for a second before bouncing up and coming to a stop in front of Charles.

“Charles, I didn’t mean you’re a rebound as well. I was only talking about Dan, you don’t know him like I do!”

Charles looked down towards the doorway, and Max took the hint, pulling the door shut behind him. As soon as he was gone, certain that there were no eyes on him, Charles leant against the door and let out the first sob, then another, then another until he was a shaking wreck. He knew they’d have an argument at some point, it was inevitable; they’re F1 drivers, they spend their lives competing and headbutting and fighting, so it was obvious that their relationship could never run completely smooth.

The buzz in his pocket pulled him back to earth and he reluctantly opened his messages.

 

>i’m sorry

>i was just mad at dan i didn’t mean it like that

>you’re not a rebound charles. i promise.

>good luck in qualifying

>well. not too good. bc i’m still meant to beat you and all

 

Charles smiled before biting his lip, stopping the tears coming back.

 

dont make me laugh. im still mad at u<

 

>i know

 

Charles walked over to his bed and stuck his phone on charge before chucking his clothes off and sliding under the covers. He was exhausted, pissed off, sad, and a million other things, and as he bundled himself in the soft, warm duvet he tried to blank his mind.

 

The pit was bustling with activity, and Charles felt a burst of apprehensive fear appear in his stomach as he stepped out of the car. Qualifying for the Ferraris had gone considerably better than the practices the previous day, and Charles and Seb had managed 3rd and 2nd respectively. However, for some, qualifying was a day to forget; namely Max Verstappen, who was spun out in Q2 by Vettel.

Charles could almost feel Max’s anger from the Red Bull pit. He pulled off his helmet and ran straight down the corridor to Sebastian, who was already on his way back to his room. There was nobody else around that part; everyone was fussing over the cars and the data and all the other stuff.

“Seb! Why did you do that?”

He spoke through gritted teeth, and he was more aggressive than he meant to be. He bit the inside of his cheek and his stomach dropped as the two drivers looked over to the approaching firestorm of Dutch yelling making its way through the pit.

“What the _fuck_ Vettel?! You had all that space on the track and you _just so happened_ to hit my wheel?”

Seb smiled dryly and put his hands up.

“It was an accident, Verstappen. These things happen.”

Max stepped forwards and Charles moved out of his way, his back hitting the wall.

“Sure, accidents happen. Kind of convenient though, me spinning out that close to the end of the session, don’t you think?”

Seb narrowed his eyes and Charles’ breath hitched in his throat. He managed to speak, if only in a choked off whisper.

“Max, don’t.”

Max ignored him, pacing ever so slightly closer to Vettel, lowering his voice to a near growl.

“I mean, if you hadn’t knocked me out, Ricciardo wouldn’t have made it to Q3, would he?”

Sebastian slowly laughed in realisation and Charles felt his face heating up with shame as Seb turned to him.

“Did you tell him?”

Charles closed his eyes and nodded, brown tufts of hair bouncing as he looked down at the ground. His eyes welled with hot tears and he wanted to melt into the wall. Suddenly Max groaned and whispered faintly;

“Oh, fuck off.”

Charles looked up to see Ricciardo standing dumbly at the end of the hall, and Vettel slowly backed up towards him, never breaking eye contact with Max. Dan pushed his hand through his slightly matted curls, looking very uncomfortable with the whole situation.

“Hey, Max.”

“Piss off.”

Dan cringed a little at the harshness in Max’s voice.

“If you’re going to act like this then I’m just going to go. I’m not here for you anyway.”

Max smirked and opened his mouth to retaliate but Charles grabbed his sleeve and shot him a warning glance. Max looked at him, pain in his eyes; there were waves crashing behind the toughened glass, threatening to break at any point, and Charles wanted to lean forwards and kiss him but also grab his shoulders and shake him back to sanity. All that was running through his mind were a million things he wanted to say to the idiot in front of him, the idiot that was trying to rile up his ex for the fun of it, the idiot that didn’t know when to stop, the idiot that he lov-

“Oh, you’re fucking, aren’t you?”

The two snapped their heads towards Daniel, who looked surprisingly calm after saying that out loud. Neither men responded, and Dan seemed to take that as a yes. He swallowed a little and backed around the corner, and Seb followed him, leaving Max and Charles standing alone in the hall. Charles’ mind was buzzing, and he looked back to Max, who was absolutely on the verge of tears now.

“I’m sorry.”

Charles looked down the hall behind them before gently grasping Max’s shoulder, rubbing up to his nape, genuinely having to restrain himself from burying his face in the crook of Max’s neck.

“What for?”

Max coughed and blinked away the tears.

“I don’t know, whatever that was, and for last night too.”

He smiled, and Charles could feel himself melting under his warm gaze. He nodded, rubbing his thumb lightly over the short hairs at the back of Max’s neck.

“Come back to my room.”

“I can’t, they need me back at the garage. Christian is yet to yell at me for smashing up the car, so...”

Silence sat in the air as Charles removed his hand from Max and looked awkwardly down the corridor.

“See you later then.”

Max nodded.

“I’ll text you.”

And with that he was gone, hurrying down the corridor and back to the Red Bull pit. Charles shuffled to his dressing room and fell on the sofa, exhausted. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into the cushions, dragging the nearest pillow over his head to drown out the world. His makeshift fort was warm and stuffy, and he coughed a little as the musty leather smell overpowered his nostrils.

He knew that Max would text him later, they’d go to one of their rooms (probably Max’s), and they’d fuck it out. Once they’d done that, Charles would make him talk about what really happened with Dan. He wouldn’t let something as stupid as this get between them, he couldn’t, but that voice still screamed in his gut;

_nothing lasts forever_

and he ached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof ouch owie my feelings  
> also according to my plan i have 4 chapters left to write. that might become 5, i'm not sure, i'll see if i need to split one of them up. when i'm done, idk what i'll do, but i'll keep writing!


	16. wdym properly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof sorry this took a while, writer's block and college work are a bad combo i guess

Charles was lying on his bed again. The familiar plaster swirls on the ceiling were definitely spinning this time, or at least moving in subtle waves. It had been hours and Max hadn’t texted yet. Charles was getting impatient, and even though he knew Max was probably just dealing with team duties, that fucking _thing_ in his gut was spinning a billion other reasons he hadn’t texted; _he hates you, he wants to leave you, why did you chuck him out yesterday, why can’t you tell him you love him, why are you such a coward, idiot, idiot, IDIOT-_

He sat up and grabbed his phone, knocking the empty can of Red Bull that he’d downed earlier off the cabinet. He’d hoped it would keep him focused to go over the notes his team had given him, but it had just made him incredibly hyper and jittery instead, like he had to keep moving or he’d _literally_ explode. He was a little confused, as they’d never affected him like that before, but then again he hadn’t had much to drink other than the Red Bull, and his head was all over the place anyway. He decided there was no point in waiting for Max to text first, so he jotted out a couple of texts and sent them off.

 

hey can i come over yet<

pls<

u can apologise properly<

 

He stared at the screen, shaking a little from anticipation, and a _lot_ from caffeine. The sudden buzz sent a jolt through him and he swore he could feel his heart trying to slam its way out of his chest.

 

>yeah sorry i was caught up with team shit

>i’m in my room now

>wdym properly?

 

sex<

 

>oh

>that sounds good

 

Charles chuckled under his breath, quickly descending into an unrestrained giggle. The laughter echoed around the room, ricocheting off the walls and cutting through the silence like a laser. He shoved his phone in his pocket and ran out the door, making a mad dash for the lift, managing to jump in just as the doors were closing. He felt a little bad for crashing into someone and was about to apologise when he saw who it was, and all his words suddenly died in his throat.

Seb gave him first a look of mild annoyance, but his face quickly floated to what could only be described as ‘vaguely concerned’ as the Monégasque stood staring at him with wide eyes, bouncing incessantly on his heels.

“You alright?”

Charles nodded frantically, feeling his vision float a little. He was full of energy as the Red Bull took fully took hold of him and he found himself wanting to charge around the entire hotel a hundred times just to wear himself out.

“Yeah, fine, just had a Red Bull.” He took in a huge gulp of air before reeling off the words that had suddenly slammed their way to the front of his mind at breakneck speed. “I’m sorry for earlier, I’m going to talk to Max, really I tried to stop him from saying that stuff and I’m sorry I even told him about you and Dan, it just slipped out and I-”

“Charles, it’s fine.”

Charles opened his mouth to continue but Seb held up a hand to stop him.

“Seriously, it’s alright. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, I knew you’d tell him anyway.”

The lift came to a stop and Charles knew Seb probably wasn’t done but he couldn’t wait any longer so he took his chance, dragging the German into a fast hug before running out the door to Max’s room, not bothering to stay for Seb’s reaction. He found the room pretty easily, after all, he’d spent basically the whole week in it. He rapped on the door quickly and loudly, realising he was getting hard just thinking about Max. He should drink Red Bull more often.

The door opened and Charles fell straight onto Max’s mouth, kicking the door shut behind him. Max jumped a little, clearly expecting Charles to chew him out a bit beforehand but Charles had already decided _sex first, talk later_ because his body was clearly itching for it and besides, he couldn’t get through a serious conversation when he was that horny; the Red Bull hadn’t helped either, and he had to get his energy out somehow.

Despite his initial surprise Max didn’t pull away, instead opening his mouth to let Charles in further. The kiss was rough and messy and heavy, all teeth and tongues, and Charles could feel Max’s crotch hardening against his own as their bodies crashed together.

Max pulled back to catch his breath, holding Charles by the waist and running his hands over the small of his back, making Charles shiver and let out a shuddery breath on Max’s neck.

“Fucking hell, Charles, are you okay?”

Charles nodded breathlessly, giggling a little as he nuzzled into Max’s neck, dropping hot kisses down his collarbone.

“I had a Red Bull. One of the _big_ ones.”

Max snorted softly, leaning down to Charles’ ear and whispering;

“I can give you another one if you want.”

Charles lost it at Max’s dumb joke, still grinning as he pulled him into another heated kiss, running his hands over the short hairs at the back of Max’s neck, drinking in the soft moans he made as he rubbed their groins together. Eventually he pulled away, marvelling at how red Max’s lips had gone from just their make-out session.

“On the bed.”

Max stumbled backwards onto the bed and pulled off his clothes as he went, Charles following suit and falling straight on top of the Dutchman, attacking his neck with rough kisses, just in control enough to know not leave any marks on his pale neck. Max reached to spin them over but Charles grabbed his wrist and pushed it down into the mattress. He knew Max could easily overpower him but he stayed put, letting Charles take the lead for once.

He urged Max up the bed until his head was on the pillows and pulled back, reaching into the drawer of the bedside cabinet for the lube. Max instinctively went to take it from him but Charles shook his head, opening the bottle and tentatively slicking up his own fingers.

“I’ll do it.”

He shuffled until he was straddling Max’s hips and reached round behind himself, pressing a wet pad to his own hole. He rubbed around it for a second before pushing in, gasping involuntarily at the intrusion. He kept going, pushing further into himself, never letting his eyes leave Max’s. He moved his finger in and out until he could fit the whole thing inside, and he couldn’t stop himself crying out as he added a second finger, slamming his eyes shut and letting his head fall forwards.

He felt Max reach up to push his dishevelled hair out of his eyes, tilting his head back up to look him in the eyes as he kept working himself, almost wanting to give up and let Max do it but he’d come this far, he wasn’t backing down now. Max was looking up at him with adoration as he slid in a third finger, fucking himself slowly, opening himself up. The angle was awkward and his arm was starting to ache but he kept going on pure adrenaline, falling forwards, sprawling his free hand on the mattress by Max’s head.

Max’s cock nudged at his thigh and he finally withdrew his hand, sweaty and panting. Max took the lube from beside them and splashed a good amount on his own cock before guiding it into place, nudging at Charles’ hole. Charles bit his lip and slowly sunk down onto Max. Max’s hands flew to his hips, gently bringing him down and he felt a hot tear form in the corner of his eye and a choked sob escaped his lips as he bottomed out.

He stilled for a moment before starting to move, slowly at first, getting used to the feeling. It was a different angle than he was used to, but he liked it, the feeling of being at least partly in control; Max’s fingers clung to his hips and he thrusted up blindly, encouraging him to speed up. He started going faster then, putting his hands on Max’s, barely stabilising himself as his vision started to blur with sheer desire.

“Fuck, Charles…”

Max breathed the words almost with a sense of reverence as he snapped his hips up, almost knocking Charles off balance. He caught himself, leaning forwards to grip the headboard with one hand, knuckles quickly turning white as he clung on, spearing himself desperately on Max’s length. His cock bounced against his stomach, smearing wet trails of precum over his navel.

He had a perfect view of Max, and he looked down at him with heavy eyes; he was soaked in sweat already, face and neck flushed red, his lips were parted and he was gasping for breath like he was drowning, falling apart completely under Charles. Charles wanted to lean forwards and kiss him but with the position they were in he knew he couldn’t, so he settled for moving his free hand to Max’s face, running his thumb over his wet lips.

He pressed down gently on Max’s lower lip, earning a satisfied moan from the man below. He pushed in further and Max rolled his tongue over the pad of his thumb, closing his mouth around it. Charles got the hint and went as far in as he could without hitting the back of Max’s throat, knowing it would probably graze, or make him throw up, which wasn’t something either of them needed at that moment.

Max sucked on his thumb in earnest, closing his eyes in concentration and moaning loudly, and Charles wondered if Max just liked having him in his mouth. Not that he minded. He felt the familiar warmth building in his stomach and his breath sped up as he kept moving his hips in time with Max’s steady thrusts, trying not to lose his composure completely.

_“Max, oh Max, je vais-”_

He was cut off when Max moved one of his hands over to grasp his burning cock, causing his rhythm to falter. He pulled his hand away from Max’s face and brought it up to join his other hand on the headboard, using his upper body strength to go for one last push before he came with a long, drawn out whine, spraying cum all over Max’s chest.

He somehow managed to stay upright to let Max keep fucking his already over-sensitised body from below. He grabbed Max’s waist, bowing his head, aftershocks rocking his body as he felt his whole body catch fire, finding a weird pleasure in the tingly pain, like tiny pin pricks all over his skin. After what seemed like hours (but in reality was only about fifteen seconds) Max shot inside him with a shout, arching his back, leaving Charles desperately clinging to his waist like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Max withdrew and Charles fell to the side, happily landing on the mattress rather than the floor on the other side. He was spent, and he barely registered Max rolling off the bed and heading into the bathroom. He came back a minute later with a damp cloth, gently wiping down Charles’ thighs, washing away the various fluids now leaking uncomfortably out of his ass.

They rearranged themselves until they were lying under the covers, Charles comfortably snug under Max’s arm, resting his head on his chest. Max was still catching his breath a little and Charles laughed softly and reached up to caress his cheek.

“I don’t know why you’re out of breath, you just had to lie there. I did all the work.”

Max pulled him closer, and Charles could almost hear the smirk as he responded.

“Hey, I did at the end, before you fell off me.”

Charles made a vague noise of agreement as reality smacked him in the gut once again. The Red Bull was still in his bloodstream, and he was getting twitchy again. He wanted to stay quiet and just let Max go to sleep, forget about Dan and everything that happened earlier, but he knew he couldn’t let it fester and rot what they had; his stomach was flipping inside out and the metallic taste that suddenly graced his tongue told him he’d been biting his lip a little too hard.

He pushed himself up until his face was level with Max’s but before he could speak Max’s thumb was tenderly brushing away the blood from his lower lip, pressing down just hard enough to stem the flow but not hard enough to hurt. Once the bleeding had stopped, Charles leant in closer, just touching their foreheads together. He went to bite his lip again but stopped himself, instead running his tongue over the back of his teeth, gritted behind his closed lips.

“I’m sorry.”

Charles didn’t respond, giving Max time to continue. He looked slightly uncomfortable, and it occurred to Charles that he probably didn’t have to apologise sincerely very often. He offered his best reassuring smile, knowing that sometimes that’s all Max needed; reassurance.

“I’m sorry that…” His face turned pink as he tried to find the right words. “…that what I said yesterday made you feel shitty. And I’m sorry for trying to piss Seb off today, and for getting you in shit with him, and…I’m just sorry, in general.”

He looked away from Charles, focusing his eyes on the pillow. Charles brought his hand up and cupped Max’s cheek, drawing his eyes back onto his own, and piercing blue met soft turquoise.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

Confusion shone through the lines of Max’s face, and Charles wanted to kiss it away there and then, but he continued.

“Okay, I was mad at you yesterday. But I don’t want to be mad at you. And Seb isn’t angry with me, but I think he wants to throttle you, so he can be mad for the both of us.”

He giggled and Max kept staring in shocked adoration as Charles continued to run his thumb over his cheek, grounding him.

“I love you.”

Max’s voice cut through the silence and Charles froze, heartbeat increasing as he looked straight at Max who looked almost afraid, with wide eyes and red cheeks. Charles steadied his shaky, caffeinated breaths and broke into another warm, genuine grin.

“I love you too.”

The mild panic on Max’s face subsided, and their lips met in a gentle kiss, Max being careful not to irritate Charles’ already sensitive skin. Charles smiled through the kiss, feeling his soul settling in his chest, the sting of his lip and the afterglow and the caffeine all combined into one massive ball of emotion that he didn’t quite know what to do with so he just kept kissing Max, feeling his body, feeling everything all at once, and it was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what colour are charles' eyes? are they blue? green? grey? RED??? argue in the comments below


	17. nothing more, nothing less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh warning here for a crash? its a dream and not *that* violent but still regular f1 car crash warnings apply i guess

_charles stands on the gravel at the corner, watching the cars go past him at breakneck speed, the whine of the engines harsh as it rings in his ears. he wants to move but he can’t, his legs are stuck to the ground. he doesn’t know how he got here, and he doesn’t know where ‘here’ is, but he’s not really considering it, he’s just watching the cars pass by, unbridled and unreachable._

_he recognises the teams as they go by, and he cheers for seb as he flies down the straight and zooms round the corner, back down to go again. he sees pierre’s red bull but it’s made of glass and he feels uneasy as it cracks and cracks and cracks a little more every time he clips the curb. he sees kimi but he’s back in his ferrari and charles wonders who’s in the sauber then? and then he sees one of them come round the corner and it’s dan’s car, dan’s in kimi’s sauber, no, dan’s in charles’ sauber, and he’s driving it perfectly, perfectly;_

_then he sees max and it’s all fine, everything is fine because max is the fastest (of course he’s the fastest), beating out the mercedes and the ferraris and he shouldn’t feel good about that but seeing as he’s not in a ferrari then it’s okay isn’t it? so he tries to cheer for max but no noise comes out, his throat constricts and he can only let out a tiny wheeze and he feels awful so he tries to wave his arms around at max to let him know he’s here, he’s watching, he loves him but now he can’t move at all;_

_and he’s forced to watch helplessly as dan’s sauber plows into the back of max’s red bull, sending it spinning then flying and it all slows down as max soars above charles’ head and he can move now, he can look up and see max as he goes and goes and goes and it would be majestic if he wasn’t so fucking terrified and then he lands on his head and the car’s on fire and charles is running but there’s no way max is getting out of that alive and nobody’s stopped and nobody’s coming and nobody’s there and he’s screaming and scratching at the chassis trying to get past the flames and he can see the deep red start to pool below him and-_  

Charles’ eyes snapped open and he found himself sitting up in bed, sweaty and panting. His heartbeat was going a mile a minute and his face was wet with tears. The soft Monégasque sunrise filtered through the blinds of Max’s apartment, washing a golden glow over the Dutchman’s sleeping body. They had got back to Monaco the day before, and Charles hadn’t been back to his own apartment, just went straight home with Max. He was lying there perfectly safe beside him, but Charles still felt a jolt of fear go through him at the memory of the dream.

He moved to detangle himself from the sheets but he stopped and took in a breath through gritted teeth. He was getting used to the post-sex pain by this point, and it usually cooled down to an ignorable ache by the time he actually had to do anything, but it still hurt when he first woke up. However, he’d already decided that the sleepy, jet-lagged sex he had gotten the night before was definitely worth the discomfort.

He carefully got out of bed and pulled on the nearest pieces of clothing he could find, which ended up being a pair of briefs (he honestly didn’t know whose they were) and a faded Red Bull hoodie (definitely Max’s). He felt a little guilty for betraying his team, but the dark blue hoodie was warm and comfy and smelled distinctly like Max so he forgave himself this time. He pulled it over his head and took in the scent, feeling the well-worn but still soft sleeves brushing against the hair on his arm.

He tip-toed out of the bedroom and padded over to the balcony, watching the sun poke its weary head over the horizon, blanketing the whole of Monte Carlo with its warm light. The sunrise in Monaco had always stirred something in him, ever since he was a child; seeing it usually calmed him down, smothered any feelings of sadness or panic that he felt, if only temporarily, but today his heart wouldn’t stop going, his mind replaying the dream over and over again.

He leaned forwards, resting his arms on the balcony and looking out past the boats towards the deep blue ocean, still and glistening in the sunlight. It was beautiful, and he thought himself lucky that he got to grow up here, seeing the ocean and the yachts and the races, and he wondered what Max’s childhood was like, back with his dad...but before he could ponder any further he felt two strong arms wrap around his waist, bringing him back down to earth. Max pressed a soft kiss to Charles’ nape before resting his chin on his shoulder, humming slightly as Charles leant into the embrace.

“You stole my hoodie.”

Max’s voice was drenched with sleep, and he’d clearly just woken up. Charles breathed out a laugh and shuffled around to face him, planting a sleepy kiss on his lips.

“It looks good on you.”

Max ran his fingers through Charles’ bedhead, patting down the fluffy mop before bringing his hand down to his jaw, holding his face in his hands. Charles looked into his eyes and thought back to the dream, the speed and the pain and the fear and it started to tear him apart. He buried his face in the crook of Max’s neck, clinging to him tightly.

“You okay?”

Charles was about to nod, but he really wasn’t, so he stayed still. His words were muffled as he spoke quietly into Max’s neck.

“I had a nightmare.”

Max made a noise of understanding.

“Yeah, I get those too.”

Charles felt himself start to well up again and he nuzzled into Max’s shoulder, resting there, focusing on pushing the tears back to where they came from. Max gave him a quick squeeze before moving back a little.

“C’mon, we should go inside. You know you’ve got no trousers on, right?”

Charles nodded, unable to stop a small smile from forming as Max wrapped his arm around his waist, holding him close as they walked back into Max’s living room. They fell on the sofa with a thump and Charles snuggled into Max’s chest, rubbing his cheek against the soft cotton of the Dutchman’s t-shirt.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Charles shook his head as best he could in his position, revelling in the still atmosphere of the room, feeling nothing but Max’s hand threading through his hair. They stayed like that for a while, and Max ended up on his phone at some point, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. Charles had almost slipped back into blissful sleep when Max’s ringtone suddenly pierced the silence.

“Ah shit, it’s Christian.”

“On facetime?”

Max hummed in agreement, but his thumb hovered over the ‘answer without video’ button.

“I can take it as a phone call though.”

He pulled Charles further up his chest until his hair was brushing against his cheek and he hit answer, the phone darting to his ear.

“Hey Christian, what’s up?”

Charles could just about hear Christian through the speaker.

_“Morning Max. Just calling to check you’ve done your training schedule for today.”_

Max inhaled sharply and leant his head back, and Charles had to bite back a laugh at his guilty little face.

“Yeah, yeah I’ve totally done that, yeah.”

_“You haven’t talked to Jake since the race, have you?”_

“Nope.”

Christian sighed in a matter that could only be described as ‘disappointed but not surprised’.

_“Who’s with you?”_

Max blushed and looked down at Charles, who was staring back up at him with his tired, washy eyes.

“Nobody.”

_“Try again.”_

Max exhaled and stifled a laugh as he tried to form an excuse in his head.

“Okay, it’s a girl.”

Charles laughed then, and he had to muffle his giggles in Max’s collarbone.

_“It’s a girl.”_ Christian’s voice was tinged with sarcasm and exhaustion, and Max felt a little bit bad for dragging him through this charade. _“Sure, it’s a girl, what’s her name?”_

Max stuttered and babbled out the first name that came to mind.

“Charlene!”

Charles absolutely lost it, falling to Max’s side and burying his face in the nearest pillow. He was on the verge of tears from how much he was laughing, and Max looked like he was close as well.

_“As in Charlene, Princess of Monaco?”_

“Yup.”

_“Your excuses are terrible. Go talk to Jake.”_

Christian hung up and Max and Charles both broke out into a massive fit of laughter.

“I think he bought it.”

Charles coughed his way through a few final giggles.

“I don’t think he did.”

“He totally did, I bet he really thinks I’m sleeping with the Princess of Monaco now.”

Charles slid back onto Max and straddled his lap, resting his hands on his shoulders and leaning forwards until their faces were almost touching.

“You _are_ sleeping with the Princess of Monaco.”

Max smirked and ran his hands up Charles’ back, lightly tracing his skin under the hoodie, the Monégasque’s breath shuddering a little at the delicate touch.

“Sorry, your highness.” He shamelessly looked up and down Charles’ body, framed with a halo of light from the glass doors behind him. “I bet you’d look great one of those fancy dresses.”

“Oh, I’ll just ask Charlene if I can borrow one, shall I? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

Max scrunched his nose a little and his laughs were coming out in small breaths now, and Charles could feel his heartbeat going a little faster. Max took in another breath before blurting out;

“We should go on a date or something.”

Charles smiled at the sudden conversational change.

“I think we should.” He reached down to link his hand with Max’s. “As boyfriends.”

Max’s cheeks were heating up, and his smile was the most beautiful thing Charles had ever seen.

“Yeah, as boyfriends.”

Charles collapsed himself fully onto Max again and the Dutchman let out a small grunt.

“I actually do have to call Jake now though. Shouldn’t you call Andrea?”

Charles’ eyes bulged and he scrambled off of Max to get to the bedroom. A few minutes later he emerged, fully dressed, just finishing up the hurried phone call. Max loved hearing him speak Italian; he spoke it so fluently, so beautifully, even though he had no idea what he was saying. He just loved to hear his _boyfriend’s_ voice.

_“..si, si. Sarò lì presto, aspettami. Uh, mezz'ora? Lo so mi dispiace! Perché non sono a casa. No non te lo dico! Ciao ciao.”_

He hung up and shoved his phone back into the hoodie pocket. Max couldn’t help but notice it was the same hoodie from earlier.

“You can’t wear that outside.”

“Why not?” Charles huffed slightly indignantly. “Doesn’t it suit me?”

Max swung off the sofa and trounced across the room to where Charles had stopped. He had his suitcase in one hand and the other was tugging at his sleeve, and he looked totally adorable.

“No, you look great in it, but it has the Red Bull logo on it. You might attract a bit of attention wearing that.”

Charles rubbed the faded bull with his finger and leant forwards into Max’s shoulder.

“I guess.”

“Wait a second.”

Max darted into the bedroom and there was a loud rustling noise before he came back out and chucked a plain black hoodie at Charles.

“Here, you can have this one. No logos.”

Charles turned it over in his hands, feeling the soft plush of the interior. Max was right, no logos. He pulled the Red Bull hoodie off, not ignoring Max’s eyes roaming over his body as he did so, and pulled the plain one on. It felt similar, more fluffy inside, but it was distinctly in the shape of Max. It smelled the same too.

Max took the discarded Red Bull hoodie and threw it onto the sofa before unlocking the door. He took Charles’ face in his hand and kissed him, tender and loving, and Charles leant right into it, almost silently begging Max not to let go. Eventually they had to separate, and the images of Max in that burning car suddenly came flooding back to him, stuck in the wreckage, immobile, dying-

and he buried his face straight back in the crook of Max’s neck, completely unwilling to let go, pulling the Dutchman closer and closer until he was all he could register in the room, it was just them, nothing more, nothing less. As if he could read his mind, Max held him tight, cradled the back of his neck and whispered;

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Charles sighed.

“I know. I love you.”

Max placed a soft kiss on Charles’ forehead.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> charles' italian that totally didn't come from google translate: "..Yes, yes. I'll be there soon, wait for me. Uh, half an hour? I know, I'm sorry! Because I'm not home [at my house]. No, I'm not telling you. Bye bye."  
> minor edit 3/7/19: ty to Lily_Anna for correcting the italian! <3


	18. i just…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a while oops

It was dark by the time Charles heard Max knocking at his door. They’d agreed that they should meet later in the day to avoid being seen, and that had ended up pushing the whole thing back to about 9:30 in the evening. Charles didn’t mind though. He’d knocked back another Red Bull, but only a regular sized one. Just enough to keep him awake, not bouncing off the walls this time.

He was only slightly embarrassed at the amount of time he’d spent preparing for their date. In his mind it was a big thing, and in many ways it was. Despite them having been ‘together’ for weeks now, he hadn’t been on a _date_ with Max; hell, he’d never been on a date with a guy before ever, so it was filling his stomach with butterflies every way he looked at it.

He’d been considering wearing the hoodie Max had given him earlier but the temperature had been climbing slowly throughout the day, and the evening heat was just a bit too much to wear such a thick hoodie. He’d dug through his wardrobe for something smart but not _too_ smart, he didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, but he didn’t just want to wear something too casual because then it would look like he didn’t try at all and after about an hour he was lying on the floor surrounded by his entire wardrobe, defeated.

Eventually he gathered the energy to approach it logically and settled for a black t-shirt, black jeans, and his black and red leather jacket. He thought it might be a bit flashy and maybe too black, but Max was already rapping on his door so he bounded over to open it before he could lose his nerve.

“Evening.” Charles took a quick look around the hallway before leaning forwards for a soft, chaste kiss. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Max said, looking Charles up and down with all the subtlety of a V8 engine. “You look great.”

Charles blushed and leant against the door frame, trailing his eyes down Max’s own body before focusing back on his face.

“So do you.”

Max smiled, genuine and even a tiny bit surprised, and Charles had to work very hard not to drag him into his apartment and get on top of him right then and there.

“You ready to go?”

Charles nodded and let his door fall shut behind him before following Max into the lift. As soon as the doors were shut he grabbed the front of Max’s hoodie and drew him into a proper kiss, not too hard but just enough to draw a surprised moan from the Dutchman. However, it was over too soon, as they pulled apart just before the doors opened, careful to speed into Max’s car just in case of any lurking paparazzi. Charles let out a sigh of relief and he bundled himself into the passenger seat.

“So, where’s this mystery place you’re taking me?”

Max buckled his seatbelt and hit the ignition, quickly turning the radio volume down low as it kicked in alongside the engine.

“If I told you then it wouldn’t be a mystery anymore, would it?” The car set off, slowly accelerating through the Monégasque streets, the lights of the casinos and yachts and general glitz and glamour casting a twilit glow throughout Monte Carlo. “But I can tell you that it’s out of Monaco.”

Charles looked back at Max with mild curiosity.

“Not too far out, I hope.”

Max hummed noncommittally and Charles noted that he didn’t actually mention how long the journey would be.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have you home by bedtime.” He kept his eyes firmly on the road, but Charles could see the smirk tugging at his lips. “Of course, which home I take you to is up to you.”

Charles laughed and leant back in his seat, feeling the glitter of Monaco slowly fade away as they drove past tall mountainsides and dark ocean, talking about the most inane and random bullshit they could think of but it wasn’t boring at all because it was Max, who spent the whole time cracking stupid jokes and dropping in casual declarations of love and making Charles giggle like a teenager.

The journey ended up taking them into a little diner just off the motorway. It was fully dark by now, and the night was clear, the stars twinkling above them as they stepped out of the car into a deserted car park. The only person in the diner was a bored looking waitress, sitting on her phone, almost dead to the world.

The bell above the door dinged as Max pushed it open, Charles following in after. The waitress looked up in vague annoyance, but her expression changed when she saw Max. She looked at Charles with a distant look of recognition before turning back to Max and, to Charles’ surprise, spoke in clear Dutch. Max responded and Charles couldn’t help but smile a little as the language rolled off his tongue, the words bending and snapping in such a strange but somehow beautiful way. She shook her head and pointed round the corner, and Charles followed Max as he headed to where she’d pointed.

“Do you know her?”

Max turned to him and made a small noise of agreement.

“I’ve been here before.”

The unsaid end of that sentence, ‘with Dan’, hung low in the air and Charles kicked at it until it dissipated. It suddenly struck him how much it pissed him off that they had to hide, go to the same, safe places because it’s too risky to be anywhere they might be seen, duck around hotel corridors and stay off each other when people were around, lie to the entire world, but there was nothing they could do, which might have been the worst thing about the whole situation.

They sat in a booth at the back, out of view of the waitress and overlooking the barren road they had turned in off. The diner was silent apart from the faint, tinny music coming from a speaker somewhere, and the occasional rumble of a car speeding past. The harsh lights above were a weird contrast between the dark of the night outside, and the whole place seemed almost completely disconnected from reality. Charles looked over from the window to catch Max staring at him, a subtle smile on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing. Are you hungry?”

Charles could feel the blush creeping across his cheeks as Max’s eyes connected with his own, and his stomach suddenly felt like a butterfly nest.

“No, I ate earlier. Are you?”

“I’m always hungry,” Max took a quick glance around the corner, over to the counter where the waitress was back to staring mindlessly at her phone before leaning in to whisper; “But the food here isn’t great. Lotte is a shit cook.”

Charles smiled and leant forwards, resting his chin on his folded arms and sighing.

“I wish we could go to nice places. Together, I mean.” Max reached out his hand and gently pulled one of Charles’ hands from under his elbow, lacing their fingers. His voice was quiet and Charles loved it; his normal voice was so loud, hearing him speak so softly felt strangely personal. “There are so many places I would take you.”

Max moved to mirror Charles’ position, their noses almost touching now. Charles could feel Max’s breath on his skin, a gentle and intimate rhythm. Charles was surprised at how low his own voice was, even in the quiet of the diner.

“Where would you take me?”

Max blew out a thoughtful puff of air and squeezed Charles’ hand lightly.

“Have you ever been to Maaseik?”

Charles shook his head, keeping his eyes on Max.

“Is that where you grew up?”

“Yeah. It’s beautiful.” There was a soft look fuzzing across his eyes and he smiled serenely. “We could go to the riverbank. It’s so peaceful there. You can fall asleep right there on the bank, but you might fall in so you probably shouldn’t.”

He laughed and Charles’ heart swelled at how familiar his laugh had become, like a song that he never got tired of.

“We live where I grew up anyway, so I don’t know where to take you that you haven’t already been.” He bit the inside of his cheek, English suddenly feeling heavy on his tongue. He sat up and Max followed, keeping their fingers entwined. “I just…”

_I just want to hold your hand at the track before we go off to our teams._

_I just want to post pictures of us on my Instagram with stupid, sappy captions._

_I just want to kiss the champagne off of you after you get off the podium._

_I just want to be with you, fuck the rest of them._

“I don’t know.” He smiled wistfully and rested his chin on his free hand. If he thought about that too much he’d just make himself sad. “What do people do on dates then, when they’re not at expensive restaurants?”

Max pursed his lips in thought before grabbing the menu from beside them.

“We could have milkshakes.” His face suddenly lit up and he grinned, “We could _share_ a milkshake.”

Charles pushed the menu down a little and peered over to try and see what flavours they had.

“I don’t like strawberry, by the way.”

Max’s head shot up.

“You don’t like strawberry milkshake?”

Charles had to bite back a laugh at how genuinely offended Max looked. He just shook his head and Max let out a low noise of disapproval. Charles reached down and pointed vaguely at the flavour list.

“Vanilla?”

“I can do vanilla. How much, like…extra toppings do you want?”

Charles shrugged.

“Surprise me.”

And surprise him he did, returning triumphantly with a glass filled to the top with vanilla milkshake, adorned with a swirl of whipped cream and hundreds and thousands, and topped with a cherry. Two straws stuck out of the cream, and Charles couldn’t help giggling.

“This is cheesy.”

Max made a worried face.

“I hope not, it’s a milkshake.”

“What? No, cheesy like…corny.”

Max snorted at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. He pushed the glass between them and took a sip through the straw, eyeing Charles the whole time. Charles leant forwards and licked the tiniest bit of cream from the top before taking a sip. He winced as the thick, cool liquid hit his teeth.

“Ah, it’s cold!”

“Yeah, it’s a milkshake.”

Charles gave Max a look of irritation, but there was nothing behind it. The diner still seemed like a place far from reality, bright lights and faint music and Max, holding his hand again and taking small sips of milkshake, occasionally punctuating the silence with random anecdotes that Charles only half listened to, spending the time trying to work out how this all happened.

“It feels like a dream.”

“Hmm?”

Shit, he said that out loud. Max pushed the now empty glass to one side and leant forwards a little.

“What do you mean?”

Charles looked down, feeling his hair bounce a little.

“All of this. This place, us, it feels like a dream. A good dream,” he added quickly, “but still a dream. I never thought I’d end up dating another guy.”

Max chuckled softly and leant his chin on his free hand.

“Yeah, me neither, I guess.” His eyes glassed over for a second but they snapped back in an instant, leaving Charles to wonder if he’d imagined it. “My dad’s not a fan, so…”

Charles nodded in understanding, but the thought of Jos finding out about them made his stomach lurch. He’d heard the stories, everyone had, but to think he could end up involved in one made him shudder.

“My dad would have liked you.”

Max smiled almost shyly at that.

“Really?”

Charles swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to steady his voice.

“He wanted me to be happy, and you make me happy. So yes, I think he would have liked you.” He smiled, the pit in his stomach not as painful anymore. Max was looking at him with a kind expression, warm and open and welcoming and it made his chest ball up with love.

Eventually they had to leave, of course, because real life was sadly still waiting for them. It was getting late, and they both had PR stuff to do the next day. The car ride back was much the same as the car ride there, just quieter, and with a more evident sense of peace settling over the two of them. Charles almost didn’t notice when Max pulled into the car park of his building, but he started to sharpen up as they headed back to his apartment.

He fumbled with the key and unlocked the door but he didn’t open it, just turned to Max, face flushed.

“Will you stay the night?” His voice sounded small all of a sudden. “I’m too tired for sex or anything, but I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Max nodded and let out a small huff of laughter.

“To be honest, so am I. Are you too tired for a kiss, though?”

Charles smiled and leaned in, tilting his head a little.

“Never.”

Max cupped his cheek and pulled him into an unreserved kiss. Charles leant right in, barely caring that someone could come up the stairs at any moment, or the lift could open, or any of that shit; he only cared about Max, every part of him, and he almost wanted someone to find them so he could share that love, scream it from the rooftops, ‘I love Max Verstappen! And there’s nothing any of you can do about it!’.

He pushed the door open and they wandered into the flat, Charles not bothering to turn the light on. They undressed and lay down on the bed, and Charles felt himself drifting off as soon as his head hit the pillow. The bed dipped as Max fell beside him, pulling him over into a gentle embrace.

“Did you have a nice time?”

Charles nodded sleepily, supressing a yawn.

“Yeah. We should do it again.”

Max hummed, low and throaty, and Charles felt it rumble in his chest.

“Yeah. G’night, Charles.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Saying those words, hearing those words was incredible, and every time he did it his heart grew inside him, fluttering and swirling and making him realise that no matter how much it felt like a dream, it was real, it was so real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i looked up whether there was anywhere like this in real life but i couldn't find anywhere. the motorway is real but there's no diner. just as well this is all made up, isn't it?


	19. someone’s going to see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took even longer than the last one because i kept getting writer's block but like. for this one specific story. so i would write something else then be like "well damn now i wanna write more of this" but its here and i'm sorry

Max blinked open his sleep crusted eyes, slowly taking in the morning. It was still a little dark outside, not yet light enough to send streams of light pouring through the blinds, but enough to see everything around him, including Charles sleeping soundly on his chest. He looked so peaceful, even with the tiny line of spit falling from the corner of his mouth and pooling on Max’s chest. Max gave him a nudge and he grumbled something in French.

“You awake?”

Charles made a vague noise of acknowledgement and opened his eyes. They were watery with sleep and almost glassy as he roused himself from sleep. His hair was fluffy and Max ran his hands through it, ruffling it slightly.

“Morning.”

Charles pushed himself up to catch Max’s lips, but he was too tired to aim properly so he ended up dropping a sloppy kiss somewhere along his jawline. Max smiled and dragged Charles up until their faces were level, and Charles took the opportunity to bring himself down to kiss Max properly. Max’s heartbeat undeniably sped up as Charles deepened the kiss, the Dutchman parting his lips to let Charles lick into his mouth.

Charles pulled away to kiss down Max’s jawline and neck, mumbling into his collarbone, his breath hot on Max’s skin.

“We didn’t even fuck last night.”

Max chuckled as Charles trailed down his chest, leaving tiny wet patches where he kissed.

“I’m surprised you managed to hold out this long.” His sentence was cut off with a small gasp as Charles swirled his tongue over his nipple, smiling at Max’s reaction. “Shit, do that again.”

Charles hummed and bit down gently, not too hard, but hard enough to elicit a moan from Max. He could feel himself hardening and Charles moved his hand down, jerking Max off with short, light strokes as he moved over to Max’s other nipple.

Max closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the pillow and Charles kept moving further downwards, eventually licking up Max’s shaft before taking the head into his mouth. Max moaned, choked off and needy, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

Charles took more of him into his mouth, working the base with his hand and sucking with surprising enthusiasm for someone who’d just woken up. Max groaned as Charles licked over the slit and from his slightly stilted breaths Max could tell that he was getting himself off as well.

Max looked down and he swore he could have come just from the sight of Charles breathing through his nose, one hand around the base of his cock and the other on his own, half rutting against the bed as he brought both of them closer to release.

Suddenly he brought his hand off of Max and sank as far down as he could go, his mouth stretching around Max as he took him in, closing his eyes as the tip hit the back of his throat. He swallowed around Max’s cock before bringing himself up, hollowing his cheeks and running his tongue flat against the shaft.

His mouth was tight around Max as he kept bobbing his head up and down, Max could feel his thighs tighten and he grasped at Charles’ hair, pulling him off just as his orgasm hit him, cum spurting over the Monégasque’s cheeks and chin. He looked up at Max and darted his tongue around his lips, lapping up as much as he could reach, keeping his eyes on Max the whole time. He pushed himself up, cheeks still splattered with cum, and Max got the hint fairly quickly.

It only took a few well timed strokes to make Charles come, and as he kept himself upright above Max, closing his eyes and groaning softly through his orgasm, Max could only think about how lucky he was. Charles moved to the side a little and reached over for a tissue, and they cleaned themselves up before Charles curled into Max’s side.

“Can we do this every morning?”

He was only half joking, but Charles laughed lightly.

“Sure. Sometimes you have to do it to me though.”

They laid there for a while, waiting for the sun to come up properly. Charles’ alarm clock read 6:13, and Max wanted to chuck it across the room, because he figured that if they couldn’t see the time, then it wasn’t real, and they could stay curled up like that forever.

It was around 6:32 when they were both jolted from their peaceful half-slumber by a knock at the door. Well, it was a frantic banging rather than a knock, and Charles rolled over, dragging the sheet over his head.

“You get it.”

Max rolled his eyes and pulled the sheet back.

“It’s your apartment. Anyway, what if it’s someone from Ferrari?”

That argument was quickly tossed out of the window when a distinctly French voice cut through the door.

_“Max? Are you in there?”_

Charles made a guttural noise of annoyance and Max took pity on him. He rolled out of bed, quickly pulling on a shirt and boxers before trudging out to the door, grumbling something under his breath about smacking Pierre so hard he ends up back in a Toro Rosso. He dragged open the door sharply and Pierre recoiled a little with surprise.

“What?”

“Dude, put some trousers on. Someone’s going to see.”

Max looked down at his boxers before bringing his head back up to glare at Pierre.

“This isn’t your house.”

“It’s not yours either.”

Touché. Pierre pushed his way in before kicking the door shut, and Max decided to look past the fact that he knew to look for him at Charles’ house. Just then, Charles wandered out of the bedroom in a similar state of undress to Max.

“Pierre, it’s too early, what do you want?”

“I don’t want to be here either, but Christian sent me after Max.” Max squinted in confusion and Pierre turned to him. “He wants to see you, now, which you’d know if you ever answered your phone.”

Max hummed in confusion and ran a hand through his hair.

“In Milton Keynes? That’s a fuck of a long way, couldn’t he just facetime me like usual?”

Pierre’s eyes darted between the two men and a look of realisation spread across his face.

“You haven’t seen.”

Max looked at Pierre with widening eyes, and his stomach dropped a little.

“Seen what?” Pierre took in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, and Max hated how desperate he sounded when he borderline yelled; “Pierre, seen _what?”_

Pierre fumbled with his phone and pulled up an article from some news site, deliberately scrolling to hide the headline, and Max knew what was coming but he still wanted to throw up when he saw the picture on the screen.

It was of him; more specifically, of him kissing Charles. There was no plausible deniability, it was clearly them, and Max could recognise the doorway easily because he was standing next to it at that moment. Someone must have snapped it as they came up the stairs, the fucking vulture, and then put it straight online.

Max felt Charles’ head rest on his shoulder as they both took the sight in with baited breath, as though as it stood it was just a dream, and if they breathed then the whole thing would become _real_. Charles was the first to give in, letting out a soft sob and Max immediately spun around and dragged him into a comforting embrace, letting him cry quietly into his shoulder.

Max had thought he’d feel sad, scared, angry, anything, but he didn’t. He was suddenly struck with a lightning bolt of apathy, feeling nothing, feeling so, so empty, nothing but pure hatred of himself for getting Charles in this situation in the first place. he could feel Charles’ soft hair and wet cheeks tickling his skin, and he found his feelings, all the anger and the love and the pain hitting him at once.

Pierre awkwardly put his phone away and cleared his throat, and Max looked at him over Charles’ shoulder.

“I’m going to wait outside.”

He backed up, shooting them an apologetic look before shutting the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut Charles grabbed Max’s cheeks and pulled him in for a breathless kiss, and when he pulled away, Max could see that his eyes were already puffy and bloodshot. He gritted his teeth and Max could tell he was trying not to cry and he just pulled him back into a tight hug, letting him spill all the sobs and whimpers and coughs he’d been holding in into his shoulder.

“Max, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-FUCK!”

His voice was raspy and Max can feel Charles’ knees buckling and he holds him upright, determined not to end up crying on the floor. _Not like last time,_ he thought to himself, but it wasn’t like last time, because he had no warning last time, no warning before he suddenly lost the man he loved.

“No, no I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault.” He kissed Charles’ forehead to calm him down, squeezing his neck gently. “I won’t let them break us apart, I promise.” _Not like last time._ “I fucking promise.”

Charles nodded into his neck, breathing steadying as he calmed down. He pulled away completely and looked at his feet before laughing lightly.

“I guess we should check our phones, huh?”

Max groaned as they padded back to the room, still shaking a little as he picked up his phone. There were…a lot of missed calls. He shuddered as he saw how many he had from his dad, and altogether ignored the texts, glancing at the words providing enough information as to what his general feelings on the issue were.

They both dressed properly, silence and unsaid words hanging in the air, the two of them hoping that if the issue wasn’t talked about further between them then it would simply dissipate and never be heard from again. When they left Pierre was waiting there, and they headed to the car park in silence.

“Max, Christian’s got a plane for you already, I can take you to the airport.” Pierre turned to look at Charles. “I have no idea what you’re going to do, Charles.”

Charles hummed and held his phone up.

“I’ll find out.”

He walked forwards and kissed Max, and Pierre instantly turned his head away, trying not to intrude.

“I love you.”

Max cradled Charles’ face and kissed his nose, pressing their foreheads together and sighing.

“I love you too, so much, and I won’t let them do anything, I swear-”

Charles silenced him with another kiss, and Max thought in that moment that maybe, just maybe things would work out. He and Pierre got into the car and left Charles standing in the car park, and as soon as they were out on the open road Max suddenly felt like crying, something he hadn’t done for a very long time.

“Hey, Max?”

He turned to Pierre, scrutinizing his expression for any hint of anger, disappointment, anything, but he couldn’t see anything.

“It’s going to be okay.”

It was that, that one sentence that had the hot tears welling in his eyes and allowing a choked sob to escape from his lips. He didn’t even think he believed it, it was just hearing him say it, it pushed him over the edge and he buried his face in one hand, leaning against the window so Pierre couldn’t see him cry.

Pierre didn’t look, didn’t say anything, just moved one hand over to Max’s shoulder and squeezed gently. It was a simple gesture, small even, but Max knew it meant everything. Now Max was the one being allowed to cry, to let everything fall from him like water from a cliff, getting it out into the open air where it could dissolve and perish.

It was comforting to know Pierre was there, and he knew he was there for both of them. But Max would fight tooth and nail to make sure that whatever happened, in the end, Charles would be okay. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Charles. He couldn’t. He took a deep breath and brought his hand to rest on Pierre’s.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that was bad of me x  
> also that was very VERY lightly checked for spag so,..sorry it's 12:40 in the morninh skskskks


	20. i’ve chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone on the f1blr discord for holding me at gunpoint to write this (love you guys)

The journey to England was almost like a waking nightmare. When Pierre had driven them through there were hordes of media scum just waiting at the airport entrance, just to get a snap of him. They were screaming a lot of questions which he thankfully couldn’t hear properly, but he heard a lot of “your dad”, “Charles”,  and “the future”, all of which he decided to tune out until he’d been given _official advice_ on what to say.

The plane ride was almost entirely silent, save for Pierre occasionally trying to dissipate the awkwardness with some small talk, but Max wasn’t in the mood. He spent most of the ride staring out of the window, avoiding his phone, avoiding everything.

He blamed himself, of course he did. It was his own stupid fault. He never should have got Charles involved with any of this. After Dan left it should have been a warning, the sign to tell him to settle down with a girl, stop trying to be who he is. As depressing as that sounded, Max figured that was what was coming.

He had no idea what Christian was going to say, but he thought he could work it out on his own; him and Charles were done, he’d have to do the whole public apology thing, sponsors would probably drop out, his career would never recover-fuck, he was spiralling. Maybe it would be alright. Maybe it would be different now. They couldn’t sweep it under the rug this time. But what would Ferrari say? Poor Charles, completely alone in Monaco, or was he in Maranello by now?

Max couldn’t take it anymore and braved opening his phone, reading the texts from everyone. The only ones he avoided were the ones from his dad. He could work out what they said without even looking. He had a few confused but supportive messages from friends, one from his sister which made his heart settle a little, but the one that really stuck out was the one from Carlos. He didn’t even realise he still had his number.

>Hey, Maxy. Heard about you and Charles. I hope it goes better than us. Whatever happens the drivers will be on your side, I know it. And it doesn’t matter what those Red Bull assholes say, don’t let him go.

_Don’t let him go._

There was a lingering bitterness on that last sentence, and it left an odd taste in Max’s mouth. He knew what he meant. _Don’t let him go like you let me go._ He felt bad about that, he really did, but every time he’d opened his phone to apologise, he’d chickened out and after a while it was too late. Maybe it was still too late.

thanks, chilli<

and i’m sorry<

He went to message Charles but he was interrupted by the plane coming in to land. He shoved his phone in his pocket and before he could get it out again he was being shooed off the plane and into another car with Pierre. Luckily it wasn’t far from Luton to Milton Keynes, but the drive he’d done hundreds of times in his Red Bull career had never felt longer. By the time he stepped through the factory doors he already wanted to melt into the ground, ignoring the eyes of everyone around him, not wanting to look at their expressions for fear of what emotions they could betray.

Pierre ended up being dragged off to the simulator, if only so that he could feel useful, and Max was left to trudge the familiar path to Christian’s office alone. He pulled at the loose threads of his hoodie sleeves, rolling the thread between his fingers nervously as he knocked on the looming door.

“It’s open.”

He pushed open the door meekly. It wasn’t often in Max’s life that he felt weak, but standing there in front of Christian, knowing that he was holding his future in the palm of his hand, made him feel like a child again. Christian gestured for him to sit and he did so, looking at his lap, still fiddling with his hoodie sleeves.

“Max.”

Max made a slightly pained noise before finally looking up at Christian, refusing to cry or bow any further under any pressure he might put on him.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, I’m a fucking stupid asshole-” His voice cracked as he continued babbling. This was going well. “I didn’t mean for any of this shit to happen, okay? I can’t just, not be who I am, you can’t stop me from being with Charles!”

“I wasn’t going to try.” Christian’s face was calm, and he was leaning forwards slightly on his elbows. “Do you need to go and calm down?”

Christian gently pushed a box of tissues towards Max, who shook his head, pushing back the angry tears that had formed at the sides of his eyes. He took a deep breath and sat up straight, facing Christian and sitting on his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.” Max squinted a little as he looked at Christian suspiciously. “I’m serious Max, you’re not in trouble. Well, not with us anyway. The court of public opinion is another matter entirely, but you know that.”

Max laughed quietly.

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“We’re going to put out a statement showing our full support for you. Helmut took some convincing, but I brought him round.” That was a shock to Max. Helmut had been the main one gunning against him and Carlos last time, so knowing that he was pretty much out of the equation was comforting. “I know he had a lot of sway the first time, but you’re out of Toro Rosso now, and there’s nothing to say you can’t stay with Charles.”

Max breathed a sigh of relief at that. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.

“So, what kind of PR shit do I need to do?”

“We haven’t sorted it all yet, but we’re planning a joint press conference with Ferrari for tomorrow.” Max balked at the idea but he knew there would be no way out of that one. “You won’t have to say anything you don’t want to. Not to the press, or to any of us.”

Max nodded and gulped a little. He still wasn’t convinced that Christian was telling the truth. It all seemed a little too good to be true, and Christian appeared to sense the discomfort on his face. He sighed and leant forwards a little more.

“Look Max, the thing is you’re an adult now, not like when you were at Toro Rosso. You can make your own choices, and live your life being who you are, and we’ll support you in that. But it won’t be easy.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. I just want to know that you’re ready to face what’s coming. This is a big thing, Max. _We_ all know it happens, but usually it’s within teams, it’s never made it this public before. Even if we’re on your side, there’s no guarantee everyone else will be. There are bound to be people saying it will affect the racing. Of course, I have total faith that you’re both professional enough to separate your personal lives and your jobs.” Max nodded furiously, hoping that Christian hadn’t made the connection with Bahrain. That really was a stupid move. Worked though. “This is going to be difficult for both of you. If you ever need support through any of this, I’ll be here, I can even give you the number of a professional-”

“I don’t need a therapist.”

Max made himself flinch at how sharp his tone was, but Christian seemed unfazed.

“Well, the offer’s open if you change your mind.” Max pursed his lips and smiled awkwardly as a thanks. “Max, you’re an amazing driver. We’re not going to drop you just because you’re gay.”

Max hummed and smiled again, more genuine this time. He hadn’t been expecting…any of that, but he was glad it had happened. Suddenly, Christian’s phone buzzed and he looked up at Max.

“Your mum’s here.”

Max’s heart jumped into his throat. That was fast.

“Shall I call her in? We can continue this after, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, please.”

It wasn’t long before Sophie was knocking at the door. Christian gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as a greeting before leaving the two of them alone. Max wanted to get up, bury himself in his mum’s arms, but something kept him glued to his chair. He clutched his arms to his chest and looked to the side, only just able to meet his mum’s warm eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Max, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

Her voice was soft, showing only sympathy and love, but Max still couldn’t bring himself to stand.

“I’m sorry I never told you.” He sniffled, “I’m sorry, I can’t…”

“Come here.”

Max found himself almost unwillingly gravitating into his mum’s welcoming embrace, only just holding back the waterworks as his mum offered soothing reassurance, hugging him tightly and Max never wanted her to let go. She did after a while of course, placing her hands on Max’s shoulders and beaming.

“Look at you, all grown up.” Max blushed and looked away, smiling a little. “You have to invite him over at some point.”

Max made a mildly pained face and Sophie laughed.

“I’m serious! I should meet your boyfriend at some point, properly, when you’re not trying to kill each other on track.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe.”

“Definitely. You have to do what I say, I’m your mother, and I say family dinner.”

“Alright!”

Sophie chuckled at Max’s annoyed tone, and rubbed his shoulder soothingly.

“You know I’m so proud of you, right?” Max huffed and looked away, but Sophie gently moved his face to look at her own. “I mean it. Whatever you do, you’ll always be my son, and I love you. You shouldn’t be afraid to be who you are, Max.”

Max bit the inside of his cheek to will the tears away and he nodded, rubbing the corner of his eye with his palm.

“Alright, don’t get too emotional.”

His voice cracked and Sophie pulled him into another hug.

“Are you talking to me or yourself?”

Max hummed as a response and rested his chin on his mum’s shoulder. He was about to say something else when his phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him a little. His blood ran icy cold when he saw who was calling him. His mum put a comforting hand on his shoulder, looking at him sympathetically.

“You don’t have to talk to him.”

Max inhaled sharply through his teeth, rubbing the side of his phone. His dad’s number flashed on the screen and his thumb hovered over the ‘decline’ button.

“I’d rather do this alone.” Sophie gave him a look of ‘are you sure?’ but Max was determined. “Please.”

Sophie nodded and gave his shoulder a final squeeze before heading out of the room, presumably to talk to Christian. Max hit the ‘accept’ button and held the phone to his ear with a shaky hand. The silence on both ends of the line was deafening, and Max could hear himself thinking, although he couldn’t quite work out what his mind was saying; all he got was white noise.

Jos was the first to speak, and his voice was devoid of emotion. There were traces of anger, Max could hear it, but he mostly sounded…tired. He tried not to think about where he’d got his anger out.

_“So, you fucked up again.”_

Max swallowed the heavy lump in his throat.

“I didn’t.”

_“You did.”_

“Dad, please-”

 _“This is a massive fuck up!”_ He’d raised his voice now, and Max felt the fear start to rise in his stomach. He had to remind himself he was elsewhere, he wasn’t in the room, he couldn’t hurt him. _“You’re an idiot. Didn’t I warn you about this kind of shit last time? It’s fucking disgusting.”_

Max’s heartbeat sped up as his mind flashed back to when his dad had last said those words, the pain, the humiliation, and he closed his eyes.

“It’s not disgusting. It’s not…bad.” He knew he was talking to himself as much as he was talking to Jos. “It’s normal, and if you don’t want to accept me like this, then you can get out of my life.”

_“Don’t talk shit. You’d be nowhere without me. You think that just because you ignore me for a while that you can live the rest of your life without me? Don’t be pathetic. It’s me or him, and I think you know the right choice.”_

Max’s eyes flew open and he drew a long, steady breath, remembering Carlos’ words from earlier. He thought about every moment he’d shared with Charles, every part of him, his wide eyes and soft hands, strained voice and pale skin, and he realised that his dad was right; he did know the right choice.

“I don’t need you. Not anymore.” He stood up a little straighter and gripped his phone so hard his knuckles turned white. “I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want you at my races, I don’t want you to come near me or my boyfriend.” Fuck, it felt good to say that. “You want to make me choose? Fine, I’ve chosen. I choose the man I love, and that’s Charles. So fuck off.”

He hung up before dropping to the floor, trying not to hyperventilate. He fumbled to open Charles’ contact and hit the call button, hoping he wasn’t in a meeting, mumbling vague prayers as it rang.

_“Max?”_

“Charles, fuck, it’s good to hear your voice!” He hoped he didn’t sound too needy but at this point he barely cared. “How’s it going on your end?”

_“I’m at Maranello, I’m only just out of the meeting, are you okay?”_

“I’m fine, I’m brilliant, I just told my dad to fuck off.”

_“Jesus, are you sure you’re alright?”_

Charles’ voice was laced with concern and Max wiped his cheek, because apparently he’d started crying without noticing.

“I’m great, seriously, how did it go with Mattia?”

 _“Better than I thought it would go, I guess they aren’t forcing us to break up, which is good.”_ He laughed a little, and Max could feel himself falling in love all over again. _“Did they mention the joint press conference?”_

Max groaned.

“Yeah, that’s going to be fun. I can’t wait for some weirdo journalists to ask about our sex life.”

_“Should we really weird them out? Say some really freaky shit and scare them off?”_

“Maybe. Tell them we have hot sex every single night?”

_“Tell them you fucked me over your car after one of the races.”_

Max belly laughed at that, imagining the shocked reporters furiously scribbling that down in their notebooks.

“Better not, they might take us seriously and we’d probably get in trouble.” He paused. “Well, more trouble.”

Charles hummed and spoke a little more quietly.

_“You know, you still need to do that.”_

“Don’t turn me on now, I have to talk to Christian again after this. I don’t want a boner for that.”

Charles giggled and started to talk but was cut off by someone speaking Italian.

_“Shit, I have to go. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”_

“Yeah. I love you.”

_“I love you more.”_

Max groaned again and laughed softly.

“We’re not becoming one of those couples.”

_“Fine, I love you the same amount. Is that better?”_

“Sure,” Max breathed out. “Good luck.”

Charles’ hushed goodbye was cut off as he hung up, and Max was left alone in the room again. His breathing was steady, and he could hear himself thinking clearly now. He stood up and checked his face with his phone camera, making sure it didn’t look too red and blotchy before he went out. His hand was on the door handle when he suddenly had a thought. He pulled his phone back out and opened his texts to Carlos.

_ Read 7:56am _

He sighed and put his phone away. He figured that was all the closure he was going to get, but it was better than nothing. He’d moved on, Carlos had moved on, the past was the past. He had Charles now, and he was enough. he was more than enough, he was everything. He took a final, stabilising breath, smiled, and opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> max's life soundtrack is actually abba and you can't convince me otherwise  
> also, writing j*s made me want to throw up. evil man


	21. i promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you get when you cross a heatwave with an attempt to write a new chapter? you get whatever this is

Early the next morning, Charles found himself bundled into a car before being thrown on a private jet to Nice airport. They’d decided to have the press conference in Monaco, as it was neutral ground for the two teams, so as not to give an appearance of favouritism. Charles didn’t mind; in fact, he preferred it, Monaco being his home and all.

He’d been advised on what to say, of course. Don’t answer anything too personal, make sure to emphasise that they can keep it professional, don’t get emotional. It felt like a punishment, the press conference of shame, making sure that everyone knew what he’d done, what he was still doing, and it made his stomach turn around inside him.

Max had told him on facetime the night before that he’d been told pretty much the same, to keep calm and respectfully decline anything too personal. Despite Max’s reassurances he was terrified. What if he said the wrong thing, or something hit too close to home and he broke down, or the entire thing ended up being a ruse, and they were actually fired completely? He’d told himself a million times that wouldn’t happen, but the pit inside his stomach was spinning, pulling every negative thought towards it and sending him into a panic.

He tried to calm himself as the plane touched down and he was hurried into the waiting car. He had no idea when he was going to see Max again, but he hoped that he was already at the conference area. He knew that they were going to be briefed together before it actually started, but he was hoping, _praying_ that they got some time alone together beforehand. Media coaches were all well and good, but unless he talked with Max about it first, he knew he’d probably stumble at the first hurdle.

By the time the car reached the conference area he’d gotten sick of his own blank face, having been staring at it in the reflection the whole journey to try and make sure he wouldn’t crack under pressure. He was fine. He’d always been fine at media stuff. This was just going to be a normal press conference, where he had to answer questions about his sex life to millions of people.

Okay, that wasn’t helping. He took a few stabilising breaths and put his sunglasses on as he left the car and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his team jacket. As he walked, he turned his head away from the masses of flashing cameras that lined the short walk into the building where the conference had been so hastily set up. He let himself be ushered through the bustling corridors, red and navy shirts blurring together as he was guided through to a dressing room at the end of a long hallway.

The door shut behind him and he was alone again at last, which he was somewhat thankful for. He texted a quick ‘what’s happening?’ to Max before settling in the squeaky, swivelling chair and finally looking at himself in the mirror.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and he felt like it too, although it had only been one sleepless night. He’d hoped they would fix that with makeup, but as the time approached it seemed less and less likely. He poked at the dark circles, tracing the soft skin, feeling his stubble scratching at his hand as he did so. He let his head hit the table with a soft thud, seeing his arms fall down by his legs as he swivelled the chair slightly with his hips.

He sat back up and sighed loudly, looking around the room for something to do. His phone stared tauntingly back up at him from the table, mocking him, calling him to _just have a look_ at his social media feeds. There was a morbidly curious part of him that wanted to open up Twitter or Instagram, but the sensible part of his brain kept him away from the apps. He wasn’t strong enough to delete them though.

Suddenly, he heard a knock at the door, and before he could answer it was open and Max was in the room, dragging him into a warm and much needed hug. He was vaguely aware of Christian standing in the doorway for a second before shutting the door to give them some privacy. Charles suspected they didn’t have long alone, and as soon as he was certain the door was closed, he grabbed Max’s cheeks and pulled him in for a fast but tender kiss.

They rested their foreheads together and Charles kept his eyes closed, focusing on the familiar feeling of Max’s steady breathing on his skin. The exhaustion was starting to set in, clouding his brain and making him want to collapse right into Max’s shoulder and fall asleep. He settled for slumping forwards and letting his chin rest on Max’s shoulder, hugging him tightly. Hearing Max’s voice in person again, uninhibited by the crackle of the phone, was like music to his ears.

“You okay?”

“I’ve been better.”

Max huffed out a laugh and squeezed Charles closer to him, resting his hand on his nape and rubbing comfortingly at the sensitive skin there.

“Yeah, me too babe.”

Charles shuffled slightly and laughed quietly.

“What?”

“You never called me that before.”

“Oh. Do you want me to stop?”

“No. I like it.” Charles sighed into Max’s neck. “I like hearing your voice.”

Max chuckled as they separated and fell down on the sofa to the side of the desk. Charles tangled himself with Max, lying practically on top of him, burying his head in the other man’s neck.

“You know we’ve only got a few minutes?”

Max’s voice was tinged with sadness and Charles grumbled into his collarbone, hot puffs of air meeting cold skin.

“Yeah, I know.” He was silent for a second before he shifted to look up at Max. “What are we going to say?”

“Don’t sound so sad!”

“I’m not sad. I’m just tired.”

Max moved his hand to Charles’ head, twisting his arm so he could gently stroke his hair.

“Want a Red Bull?”

Charles thought about it before shaking his head under Max’s hand.

“No, you know what I’m like when I have Red Bull. I’d probably end up telling people way more than I should.” Max laughed, bouncing Charles’ head slightly as his chest moved up and down. “I told you, we’re not doing that, we would get in trouble.”

Max blew out a thoughtful puff of air and looked at the ceiling, softly repeating Charles’ earlier question to himself before finally getting out an answer.

“I mean, what do you want to say? We don’t know what they’ll ask yet.”

“Well, we know a few things they’ll ask. The obvious questions. Shall we just be vague about it?”

“I guess. I already know what that PR woman will say to us beforehand. Don’t get mad, don’t say too much, whatever. Don’t get emotional,” The mocking annoyance in Max’s tone on the last word was clear. “Yeah, don’t act like you’re in love, if you get too gay it’ll scare them and we’ll get a slap on the wrist for daring to exist.”

“You can’t be sarcastic either.” Charles pushed himself up to hover over Max, looking into his warm blue eyes. His breath was shaky as he spoke, just inches from Max’s face. “I just…what if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing and fuck it up even more than it’s already fucked up?”

Max stroked his cheek gently and Charles subconsciously leant into the touch, the warm hand on his face comforting him.

“You only have to say what you’re okay with saying. Just try not to look like you’re freaking out. Pretend it’s just me?”

“Oh, then I would definitely say something stupid.”

They both laughed, and Charles felt his mood lifting slightly as he leant down to kiss Max once more before they heard a rapping at the door.

“Yeah, coming!”

Max sighed and Charles rolled off him, offering him a hand up. He took it and they only separated once they reached the door, Max placing a chaste kiss to Charles’ cheek before they headed out to face the real world.

* * *

 

Max had, more or less, been right about the PR coach. She made sure to emphasise that they needed to keep it _professional._ Basically, everyone was fine with them being gay, as long as they didn’t have to see it. Charles was okay with that, and Max pretended to be as well, but Charles could feel the anger radiating from him.

The camera flashes seemed brighter than usual, but Charles figured it was probably just because of his nerves. He was trying not to shake, Max next to him being the only thing preventing him from passing out. They’d been assured that it wouldn’t be long, with the team principals also having a slot to talk, but Charles didn’t believe it would be as short as he wanted it to be. The reporters looked almost excited, and Charles couldn’t blame them.

Charles blinked a few times to wake himself up, his exhaustion obvious to the cameras. Max took any questions that weren’t directed to Charles specifically, which he was grateful for. He was fighting to keep his eyes open as Max fended off questions about the racing, the teams, how long they’d been going; keeping it vague, keeping them at arm’s length.

“Question for Charles,” His eyes shot open and he tried to look like he was paying attention. “How has your team reacted to your coming out? And how have the fans reacted?”

 _‘Well, I didn’t come out, I was forced out,’_ he thought to himself.

“The team has been great, I have their full support on this and while we all wish this could have happened on our own terms, they’ve said that the only thing that matters to them is that I keep racing well,” He cleared his throat before adding, “and I haven’t been on social media, so I don’t know how the fans have reacted.”

The journalist seemed satisfied with that, and moved onto Max.

“Question for Max. Have you spoken to your father yet?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw Max tense and his hand instinctively flew to his boyfriend’s knee, just out of view of the cameras. He squeezed gently and shot him a small smile, just letting him know he was there. Max smiled back before turning back to the reporter, trying not to lose his mind.

“Yes, we’ve talked.” He took a deep breath as the journalist looked at him expectantly. “If you really want to know, he probably won’t be coming to races anymore.”

“He can’t accept you being gay?”

Charles squeezed harder on Max’s knee, keeping him from going ballistic, although Charles himself was pretty close. He could see the PR coach at the back of the room shoot him a glare, but he wasn’t moving his hand, not for anyone. Max didn’t say anything, just made a ‘what the fuck do you think?’ face and leant forwards on his arms, clearly not answering any further.

“And Charles, have you spoken to your mother?”

Charles’ heart sank a little. He hadn’t, not yet. He hadn’t even had a text from her. His brother had told him she needed time, whatever that meant.

“No, not yet, but I will.” He swallowed thickly, every word heavy on his tongue as the cameras glared at him like angry eyes. “I haven’t had a chance.”

The seconds dragged on like hours, and every passing moment adding more weight to Charles’ eyelids. By the time it was finally over he felt like he was going to pass out, and as soon as they were out of view of the cameras he fell onto Max’s shoulder, breathing heavily. A cursory glance at his watch told him it had only lasted fifteen minutes, which he was convinced was wrong.

“We can go home now, right?”

Max hummed and shook his head.

“We have to stick around for a bit, but we can go back to the dressing room I guess.” He looked at Charles with a worried expression. “Are you okay?”

“I need sleep.” Charles yawned to emphasise his point. “I didn’t sleep at all.”

Max nodded and they made their way back to the room, collapsing on the lumpy sofa once again. Charles was practically asleep already, but as he nuzzled into Max’s neck, he whispered barely audibly;

“Do you think it will be okay?”

Max pulled him closer, staring at the patch of damp on the ceiling above them.

“Yeah. Not easy, but…it will work out. As long as we have each other, we’ll be fine. I promise.” He kissed Charles’ forehead softly, and it all came rushing towards him then, that it really could be okay. “I promise.”


	22. full word-vomit mode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry this took so long, i just had no motivation or idea of what to write, but i FINALLY cranked this out. phew.

Charles wasn’t ready for the first race back. He thought he was, but he realised as soon as the plane touched down in Baku that no amount of mental training could have prepared him for the reality. The looks the two of them got from the other drivers were…varied. Some were laced with pity, some were worried (for the two of them or themselves Charles didn’t know), and at least one was thinly veiled disgust.

He also wasn’t expecting the two of them to be in separate hotels. He knew that the teams sometimes used different hotels, but he was pretty sure that last time he’d looked, Ferrari and Red Bull had been in the same hotel. He wasn’t about to cause a fuss though, just waved goodbye to Max as they went their separate ways until the next day.

After a quick shower and a cup of tea, Charles crawled under the bedsheets and chucked his phone on the dresser. There wasn’t much to do now he’d decided to ignore his socials, and he already knew Max was in for an early night, so he ended up trying to do the same. He tossed and turned for at least an hour, his brain turning wheels and cogs around faster than he’d have liked them to, conjuring thoughts that he’d rather not think.

He hadn’t actually had much time with Max since the press conference, the two of them both working overtime with PR people and team videos. Whenever they’d collapsed together on the sofa or in bed, they’d usually drift to talking about meaningless drivel just to avoid having to look reality dead in the face.

They both knew it was a shitty coping mechanism to ignore the issue of _‘well, what the fuck do we do now?’_ , but neither of them could muster the courage to actually talk about it after the press conference. They’d just resumed, or tried to resume, what they were doing before, but it had been hard. Max had turned his comments off and blocked his dad on pretty much everything, and Charles had shrunk into a corner, keeping his phone turned off most of the time.

He rolled around, splaying himself spread eagle on the bed. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to cry but he wasn’t sad, wanted to jack off but he wasn’t horny, wanted to sleep but he wasn’t tired. He felt lost, lost in a way he hadn’t felt in a while, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl up and sleep for a million years. So he decided to see Seb.

They hadn’t talked much since the last race, bar a couple of texts about the whole _situation._ Seb had offered his support, obviously, but Charles had told him he didn’t want to burden him, not on top of his own problems. So when he knocked on his hotel room door at 11:30 at night, Seb was understandably a little confused.

“Charles?” He looked him up and down with a mildly concerned expression. They were both in their pyjamas, and Seb looked like he’d just been woken up. “Are you alright?”

Charles rubbed his foot against his ankle and shook his head. Seb glanced behind himself and walked out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

“Where’s your room?”

Charles points down the hall and the two of them head down into Charles’ room. Charles sat down on the bed and Seb nudged him to shuffle up, and Charles thought the scene was reminiscent of sleepover scenes in all those American movies that he’d always wanted to have with his friends but had never found the time.

Seb sat cross-legged on the end of the bed, and Charles couldn’t believe he was almost thirty two. He looked the same age as Charles, hair tousled from sleep, eyes bright despite the bags beneath them. He yawned and Charles felt a stab of guilt for dragging him up.

“Sorry.”

Seb shook his head.

“Don’t be, I wasn’t asleep. Dan is though.” Charles made a small sound of realisation, feeling even worse for dragging him away from Dan. “Anyway, what’s up?”

Charles sighed and looked at his lap. Good fucking question. He looked up at Seb with tired eyes, trying to fathom the words in his head. He guessed he looked pretty pathetic, but Seb didn’t seem to mind, so he stopped thinking too much and just started talking.

“I don’t know, I’m scared. Everything is just…so much, now everyone knows about me and Max, it’s like everybody is watching us all the time.” He took in a shaky breath. “I haven’t even checked my social media yet, not at all, and all I can do is keep ignoring it hoping it will go away but it won’t and I can’t _do_ this!”

He clamped his palm over his mouth to stop himself from going into full word-vomit mode. Seb shuffled over and put his hand on Charles’ shoulder, and Charles blinked back his breakdown, shaking his head and trying to steady his breaths.

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

Charles groaned softly and fell back onto the mattress to stare blankly at the ceiling. Seb looked at him with vague concern on his face.

“I don’t know! I don’t know anything!” He sighed and dug his palms into his eyes. “What if everything goes shit?”

“How will it go shit?”

Charles flailed his arms wildly in the air as he choked out a response.

“There are a million ways it can go shit!”

“Well, the big one was people finding out, and they found out and it hasn’t been so bad, has it?”

“Yes, but what if that fucks it all up, and he leaves me, then what do I do? What if he falls out of love, or if he never loved me in the first place, or-”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Charles sat up and pursed his lips. He wanted to respond but Seb was probably right. He darted his tongue out to wet his chapped  lips and sighed.

“Have you talked to Max?” Seb continued, “You must have done, if you’re this worried.”

Charles shook his head.

“Not really. We haven’t had much time.”

He picks at his cuticles and Seb lightly smacks his hand to stop him. Charles tried his best not to look too sorry for himself, but it was hard; he certainly felt sorry for himself. Seb sighed and sat up straight, but Charles spoke again before he could.

“I’m scared, Sebastian. Shit, I don’t even know why I came to you.”

“Yes you do.”

Charles looked up in mild surprise.

“Nobody does anything without knowing a little bit why they did it, or they wouldn’t do it.” Charles opened his mouth to respond, but his mind was blank. “From what you’ve said, you either just wanted to vent, or you want advice. Am I right?”

Charles nodded silently, and Seb gave him an expectant look.

“Advice. I want advice.”

The ‘but I didn’t want to ask’ went unsaid.

“Right, so you want to know what I think you should do?”

Charles nodded again, looking up properly now.

“I think you should talk to Max!” He tapped his forehead knowingly. “Communication is important. If you’re worried about what to do, don’t tell me, tell him! I think as well, you should stop ignoring your social media. Rip the plaster off, see? But I think you already knew that. And I don’t think Max is going to leave you. I’ve seen how he looks at you. That’s not something you can fake, trust me.”

Charles stared at his lap and hummed. He was right, and he kinda hated it. Seb blew out a breath through pursed lips and drew his knees to his chest. It was weird seeing him like that, Charles thought; he looked small, almost vulnerable.

“You know, I was with Kimi before.”

Charles snapped his head up.

“Yeah, for years. Well, sort of.”

Charles blinked and Seb unfurled himself, laying back to stare at the ceiling. Charles followed, lying on his side and propping himself up on his elbow.

“It was on and off, more off than on usually. He would always run off if I even tried to make it into anything other than ‘stress relief’ or whatever he wanted to call it. I got so mad at him when he went to America, I didn’t talk to him at all, I didn’t even call or text, and that’s when I started with Dan. Dan was there for me, and I felt like shit, because I didn’t _communicate,_ ” Seb drew out the word and smacked Charles’ arm lightly to make his point. “my actual feelings to him, which were obviously a total mess. I felt a lot for Kimi, but I was really starting to like Dan more, and it was tearing me up inside. I was scared, so I just ignored it hoping it would go away. Which is what you shouldn’t do! Talk to Max, okay? Now I have to get back, it’s late.”

He pushed himself up off the bed and Charles made a disappointed noise.

“Hold on, so what happened in the end?”

Seb blushed a little and rolled his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and Charles shuffled to sit by him, rapt.

“When Kimi came back from rallying it was a nightmare. He wanted to get back together, obviously not _together_ together, but I was drifting more towards Dan. When me and Dan were teammates we ended up fighting most of the time, because I was young and petty and I hated that he was faster than me. I ended up going to Ferrari, and back to Kimi. I ended up finally breaking it off for good at the end of last season, Max and Dan obviously broke up, so we sort of just…drifted back to each other.” He shrugged. “It’s life, I suppose. Now I actually have to get back, the idiot will wonder where I am.”

Charles nodded as Seb headed to the door, giving him a short wave as he wandered out the door. He turned the light out as he left, plunging Charles into darkness. His hand twitched a little as he reached for his phone, but decided against it. He could talk to Max tomorrow. For now, he needed to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is, by the way, the penultimate chapter (plus a short epilogue). and i mean it this time, not like the last time when i said there were only 4 chapters left which i said on chapter 15 like a DUMBASS


End file.
